


Break Against Me

by burlesonspride



Category: Glee, Quinntana - Fandom
Genre: F/F, quinntana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesonspride/pseuds/burlesonspride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Quinn allows the past to haunt her, she finds refuge in the one person who knows her best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All that matters

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly AU Quinntana set 10 years after graduation.

 

The gentle tones from the room down the hall sway back and forth in the vacant space as they spill from the small white monitor on the nightstand. Each note placed perfectly apart, drumming the tune of Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star into memory. The silence in the room allows for the soft static of restful breaths to mix with the melody and create a soothing, almost hypnotizing, atmosphere.

The windows in the large bedroom are open, inviting the cool fall breeze in. It’s welcomed with swaying curtains and the rustling of leaves. The walls are pristine with beautiful crown molding; the colorful accents that make the room warm and inviting. Here and there, black and white photos, framed neatly with clean matting. The room is scattered with things that look as if they’ve been ripped off the pages of a magazine. Patterned throw pillows in the window seat, the hand woven throw draped over the reading chair in the far corner of the room. Through a doorway you see the end of a large claw foot bathtub. Fresh cut roses sit on the windowsill adding a touch of color and life to the white tiled room.

It’s all so perfect, so cookie-cutter, so… Stepford.

It’s all so Fabray.

I’m surrounded by the details of her life; the perfection of it all. You couldn’t write a more predictable story line for someone with her upbringing. People look at Quinn and the life she leads with envy. She’s the beautiful blonde at the end of the street. Her vows were recited to a tall marketing analyst, who also has a chair on the board of directors at the country club. When they bought the quaint two-story home, they were a neighbors dream. With the manicured landscaping, the American flag that sways off their porch, the little white mailbox that's perched atop the waist level white picket fence. They brought vibrancy to the home. They’re the handsome young couple in the corner house. Over the years, they became hosts of the block parties. The neighbors you could always depend on for a cup of sugar, a hand under the hood of a car, or to help you out with whatever.

Their little fairy tale was complete when Quinn gave birth to a bouncing baby boy almost two years ago. They named him Braxton for God’s sake. (I mean, could you get anymore suburban?) With his arrival, they were the perfect little family. You know, like those ones you see on the inserts they put into frames? Selling you on the promise that if you buy that frame, your family will somehow reflect the joy in the models faces? Yeah, that’s the Randall family: Quinn, Timothy and Braxton Randall.

This is the life Quinn built for herself. A life without me.

I think about all that I know about Quinn Fabray. The people who put her up so high have no clue who she really is. It’s enough to make me want to laugh. They see this June Cleaver of a woman standing before them. The housewives in the neighborhood run home and cut their hair to look like Quinn. They begin fashioning themselves after the woman with the perfect sense of style. The husbands watch her maybe a little too long when she goes on her daily runs through the neighborhood. The families invite her to every party, every book club meeting. If Quinn Randall shows up to your house, that’s saying something.

But these women, these men, they don’t know the real Quinn. They know the Quinn she wants them to know. They don’t know about the woman who nearly lost her life as a senior in high school. They don’t know that she stands in front of the mirror every day and ghosts her fingers along the raised scar that runs across the bottom of her back as a result. How she feels less beautiful because of it. They don’t know about the mirror image of Quinn who will be celebrating her tenth birthday in four days. They don’t know of the pink haired troll who took the Fabray name for a few months. There is so much that people don’t see. It almost makes me sad. There is so much that goes into the make-up of who she is. So much that has happened to her that so few know of. To me, these things make her lovable, humble. They make her human. But she’s never seen them that way. These are parts of her that she refuses to let people know. She’d kill me if I ever said it out loud, but she’s slowly turning into her mother. Just lock it away and move on. Judy didn’t miss a beat drilling that into Quinn.   

Over her life, Quinn has developed quite a knack for locking away parts of her. I know from experience. She locked me away in a nice little box years ago. Stored me on a shelf and walked away. She would pull me off the shelf when she needed a reminder of who she really was. But as soon as she started wanting more, feeling more, she turned the key and I was once again stored away.

We’ve never been able to say not to one another. When she found her way into my bed, I never turned her away. When I stood on her doorstep, she never closed the door on me. We have this addiction to one another. That’s the only way I can describe it. Quinn and I spent two years together as a couple. Learning to love each other in ways we didn’t know were possible. Our broken lives had left us believing that happiness wasn’t meant for rejects like us. We had lived on top, head cheerleaders, owning the school. When we fell from the top, we both fell hard. After high school, we found refuge in each other. We started out rebuilding what little friendship we had, and that grew into more over time.

But distance and expectations can really do damage to a person; especially one who was already so broken. Eventually, we dissolved, slowly and painfully. The trips to New Haven stopped. She stopped coming to me in NYC. We both shut down so fiercely, protecting ourselves. The immediate defenses are simply reflex for her and me. It was simpler than I thought to put on my mask and act as if I wasn’t dying inside. There’s that saying, “Fake it till you make it.” I believe it whole heartedly.

I moved on with my life, and she moved on with hers. Every so often, we’d find ourselves having dinner, discussing life. And yes, a few of those times ended in sex all over my tiny apartment in the city. The last time we had an encounter that ended with her in my bed was a little over four years ago. When I woke up that morning, I was alone and there was a note on the nightstand that read:

**“I’m getting married next week. This isn’t how I intended the night to go, and certainly not how I planned to tell you. Please don't hate me. I will never stop loving you.”**

I was pissed. And I was hurt. After everything we’d been through, I get a note? Really? I spent a long time after that feeling cheated and just angry. It felt like the cowards way out. I knew that we had ended that part of us, but in those moments, when we could let our guards down and just be the girls we were back then, I couldn’t help but feel like that part of us still existed. Over time, I began to let go of some of the hate I held toward that act, but I never was able to shake the feeling that Quinn ran because she couldn’t deal with the pressure from her family to be exactly what they expected her to be. I wasn’t part of that plan. It was easier to put me away than it was to deal with everything we had become together. I stayed mad a Quinn for a long time. But I couldn’t be mad at her forever. She did what she had to do. As someone who came from a situation where I had to make a choice from myself, I can respect that. Now, I’m not saying she doesn’t love Tim or that she was forced to choose him over me. But I don’t think Tim would have stood a chance had we fought a little harder for each other.            

When I let my eyes fall on the mess of blonde hair on my chest, I feel the familiar sting. The one that reminds me the woman in my arms is not mine. Not in the way I want her anyway.  She shifts lightly and her leg warps around mine a little tighter. As if she can feel my longing even in her sleeping state. A silent reassurance that it’s me she clings to when life gets too much for her. I watch her eyelids flutter, but never open. She settles back against me, holding me protectively. My arm wraps tighter around her small form, my silent answer; I’ll always be there for her.

My eyes close and I allow myself to slip into a daydream; one where the child that sleeps down the hallway is ours. The home I am laying in belongs to us. I imagine being able to lay here without the worry of being gone by a certain time. I think about waking up alone, but walking down the stairs and being greeted with a smile and a kiss from Quinn as she hands me our child. I think about all the mundane things that people take for granted. Things like bath time with the baby. Or sitting on the couch and watching television. Doing dishes together, and perhaps the simplest of all, knowing when you pull into the driveway that you have a family waiting for you inside.

I’ll never confess this to anyone, but these are the things I ache for. And Quinn is the only person I ever truly allowed myself to imagine that life with. My biggest regret is not having fought for her, for us. I was so hurt back then that my instincts took over and I dealt with the blow the only way I knew how; with anger and detachment. It’s not like Quinn went into the ring for me either. We both just shut down and walked away. It’s easier to protect your heart that way. Or that’s what we convince ourselves of anyway.

When the quiet sounds coming from the monitor are replaced with a playful laugh and the quick change in tune, I know the daydream is over.

Quinn stirs against me and chuckles lightly at the sound of Braxton laughing uncontrollably at who knows what.

Her arms wrap around me tightly and her legs untangle from my own in a long stretch, “I guess naptime’s over, ‘Tana.”           

There is a tug at the corner of my lips when she uses Braxton’s name for me. He’s unable to say Santana, so I’ve become known to him simply as ‘Tana.

“How long was I out” she asks with a yawn.

I glance over at the alarm clock on the nightstand before answering, “About forty-five minutes.”

I feel her lips press against my cheek and then her warm breath, “Mmm, I slept so good. Thank you.”

I stretch my arms out, allowing her to roll from me and swing her legs off the bed, “For what?”

I watch her shoulders roll and have fight the urge to lift up and kiss the exposed skin on her shoulder where her shirt had fallen a little.

She turns her head and glances at me over her shoulder. With a smile, she replies, “For staying with me.”

She stands and walks over to the dresser. Her hands smooth down her shirt; ironing out the few wrinkles left by the way she slept. Then she runs her hands through her tussled hair, grabs an elastic band and secures a small ponytail. A few of the shorter strands fall and frame her face. Her shirt rises just higher than the waist of her jeans and my eyes follow the dip in her back. I sit up as I watch her, admiring the way she makes beauty look effortless. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and I know she’s caught me. Without breaking the stare, I find my voice, low and full of admiration, “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

Her eyes drop and a shy smile dances across her lips. I can see the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks and I feel my own chest filling with warmth. I climb to the end of the bed and she turns, her bare feet padding softly toward me. Her head never raises, her eyes watching her feet as she moves. She stops before me, standing between my legs, her knees pressed into the mattress. My eyes lift, traveling her body before they find the coppery hazel stare I had latched onto before. She bites her bottom lip, her eyes falling and finding purchase on my lips.

My tongue darts out to moisten my lips and above me she lets out a soft moan. The electricity that exists between us right now has the room buzzing. A single charge is all that is needed to set off an explosion. My hands lift and my fingertips drag across the denim beneath them; along the outside of her thighs, climbing until stopping at the curve in her hips. My thumbs move and slip beneath the material of her t-shirt. The moment I feel her warm skin against my own, her eyes fall closed and she sighs. My heart beats uncontrollably at the sounds she’s making. I swallow hard, trying to regain some control over my own body. Her hands lift, the back of her knuckles brush over my jaw, the pad of her thumb runs lightly across my bottom lip…

“Mama!” Braxton’s call for Quinn is followed by a giggling screech and ruckus laughter.

We both shudder; broken from a moment we should't have gotten lost in. Together we take a deep and cleansing breath and laugh away the tension. She steps from me as my hands fall away. She smiles down at me and her eyes are still dark and clouded, but I can see the light browns coming back quickly.

I gesture toward the door with a soft smile, “You better get going mom. I should probably hit the road anyway. It’s getting late.”         

I see a flash of sadness in her eyes before she covers it up skillfully with a smile and a nod, "Yeah, I suppose you're right." She makes her way to the door while I slip my sandals on, "Hey," she pauses, "You coming to tell him bye?"

I hesitate a moment then answer, "Of course."

As we make our way down the hall, I think back on the last few days. The tear-filled call at four in the morning. The desperation in Quinn's voice when she asked me if she was a bad mother for having given Beth up. I physically ache when I can't calm her down, when I can't reassure her. Quinn has always carried around this self-imposed guilt when it comes to the past. Especially when it comes to Beth. And when Braxton arrived, that guilt dug in deeper and began tearing away at the thin fabric that held all of Quinn's self doubt.

It's always around Beth's birthday that Quinn gets lost in the past. She dwells on what she could have done differently. Being by her side during these times is nothing new. I promised her a long time ago that no matter what life threw at us, I would always be there for her. And ever since that promise, it’s me she seeks out in those moments of weakness. But the last two years have been hard. Quinn beats herself down with a new found ferocity. She blames herself for not being able to provide Beth the same things she can for Braxton. A home, a family, love and support. She convinces herself that she failed her daughter. Even though the truth is she did best possible thing for Beth. And even worse, Quinn doubts herself as a mother now. She is terrified to fail Braxton in the same way. As irrational as that is, and I tell her so, she allows those claws to grasp at her so tightly they draw blood. No one can destroy Quinn Fabray better than Quinn Fabray.

Standing in the doorway, watching her lift her son from the crib, I can't imagine a better mother. That kid loves her more than anything. When she walks into a room, his eyes—his mothers eyes—light up like it's Christmas. I watch as Braxton's small hands cup his mother's face. He watches her so intently, a small crease in his brow, as if he's trying to figure something out. She smiles and leans forward, blowing loudly against his neck causing him to break into a fit of laughter. His high-pitched squeal is infectious and I can feel my own laughter joining in with theirs. He drops his head on her shoulder and his arms wrap tightly around her neck.

When he sees me, he reaches out calling, "'Tana! 'Tana!"

I uncross my arms and walk toward them, hands outstretched. I tickle his neck and nuzzle his tiny nose, "Hey little man! I'm gonna get all those tickles!"

He let's out another round of laughter and buries his face against Quinn's neck. I hum as I lean in and place a kiss in his sandy hair. The soft scent of lavender baby lotion and the vanilla tones in Quinn's perfume mingle to create an intoxicating scent. My hand falls down his back and I pause when it covers the one Quinn holds against him.

"Alright you two," I say with a sigh, "I gotta get going."

Another kiss on his head and I pull away, "I'll be back day after tomorrow. Okay?"

Quinn nods, adjusting Braxton on her hip to free a hand. I lean in and embrace her. My hand rubbing soothing circles between her shoulders, "I miss you, Santana."

"I've spent the last two days using up all my kindness on you." I nudge her and wink, "If you let my secret out, Imma go Lima Heights on your..."

"You..." Quinn interrupts, "talk a big game, Lopez. But you forget I know you better than most. Save your speech, baby. I'm not going to tell anyone you actually have a heart." She brings her finger up to her lips, "shhh."

I shrug, "Good. I've got a reputation to keep."

Her face sobers, "You know what I mean though."

Leaning in, I place a kiss against her cheek. "I know," I mumble, "I'll be back soon. You call, text, face time, whatever. Okay?"

"Okay."

I wave as I walk out into the hall, “Bye guys.”

Braxton waves and goes about twisting the loose strands of Quinn’s hair in his fingers. Quinn smiles at me softly and I can tell she has something she wants to say but won’t allow it. She won’t break in front of her son.

It takes everything in me to turn and see myself out of the house.

As I drive, I wonder why I didn’t just book the hotel for the week. I know rationally it’s because I have a block of meetings scheduled tomorrow at the office. But I didn’t think it’d be this hard to leave. We’ve done this for years, me coming to Quinn when she feels like breaking. And it’s never easy to say goodbye, but there is something different about this trip.

I contemplate turning back around but I know that if I don’t hit I-95 now, it’s going to take me hours to get home with rush hour.

I grip the steering wheel as I pass the sign that says: Now Leaving New Haven

“I’ll be back in a day” I say aloud.

I just need to get Quinn through the next 4 days. Once she’s over that hump, the pristine doll reemerges and she stands tall again. Sometimes I wonder why I do this. Why I come running when she calls. I should resent it. But it’s like I said, I’ve never been able to tell her no. I’ve never been able to find a way not to love her. When you love someone, they are all that matters.

And that’s why I come when she calls. To me, she’s all that matters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for more.


	2. So Much Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the city opens old wounds and creates new memories.

I’ve come to find that when the mind is so preoccupied with a singular subject, it searches for anything else to focus on; a failsafe to keep itself from disappearing into oblivion. A blinking crosswalk light, the argument being held five stories down on the street, the sound of the rooftop fans clamoring to life or in my case, the mesmerizing motions of the sloshing crimson liquid in the stemmed glass I hold. With my arm propped up on the side of the bathtub, I find myself fascinated that just by the smallest sway of my wrist, the liquid swirls in uniform perfection.

The music I have playing out in the living room flows in the small bathroom and echoes gently off the tiles. The low snapping, and popping of the bubbles that blanket the water grows softer and louder depending on the type of movements my body makes. The steady drops of water that fall lazily from the faucet meet the water and chase off the rouge bubbles that dared to creep beneath. The shadows from the candles that reside in the corners of the tub dance in and out of the moonlight that filters through the small window high on the wall.

My attention deviates from the wine to the dripping faucet. Lifting my leg, I toe at the faucet, feeling the cooler water drip down my foot. I take a long sip from the glass and slink down further into the warm water.

“What am I doing?” I wonder aloud with a drawn out sigh.

Over the years I’ve become somewhat of an expert at managing my feelings when I’m around her. It’s self-preservation. Don’t get too close. Love her, but don’t fall in love again.  I shake my head and an empty laugh echoes around me. How can I fall in love with her _again_ when I’ve never stopped?

This is an all too familiar feeling. I can always tell when my heart is making room for her. I ache for her. It starts simple enough. Usually it begins with a desire to text her more. Then that grows into a need to hear her voice. From there, the ache starts. I can feel the tingle in my fingertips when I think about touching her. My body teases me with the memory of her tucked safely in my arms. And soon, I begin to lose sleep. I wonder what she’s doing; if she’s feeling alright. I drive myself crazy with the what-ifs and the waiting.

Waiting to see if I’ll ever be the one she chooses.

I tell myself that this is a cycle I need to break because it always ends the same: It’s not me.     

But if there is one unwavering fact I’ve come to find in this life, it’s that when the heart is involved, there are no set rules. All the lines are blurred and you go purely on instinct. At some point you come to an impasse where you have to decide; is it worth it?

My thoughts are broken by the familiar tone that fills the room. The screen illuminates, revealing a picture of Quinn and Braxton from two days ago.

I reach for the attached receiver and lean back against the tub, “Why is it that when you call, I’m usually naked?”

“Hey you” she chuckles into the line, “I don’t know, just lucky I guess.”

“We just talked an hour ago. Couldn’t wait till tomorrow, huh?” I realize when she falls silent that maybe that came out a little harsh.

“Shit, Q,” I add, “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just been a long day. How are you?”

She sighs softly, “I’m… I’m fine. I just miss you.”

She sounds so fragile. I hate that she’s so broken right now. I know she’ll pull herself out of this soon enough, she always does. But standing by and watching this is nothing short of painful.

“I miss you too.” I pause, “So what do you want to do tomorrow? I’m all yours.”

“Well, I was thinking I might come to you. Some time in the city sounds nice.”

My cheeks warm at the thought of seeing her here. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah” she sighs, “I miss it. I miss being there, with you.”

“You sure are missing a lot these days, Quinn.”

Her soft laugh finds its way to me and I find myself gnawing lightly on my lip, “As if you’re not basking in the attention. Santana, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Pot. Kettle” I tease.

A silence falls over the conversation and all I hear are the soft tones of the music and the steady breathing from across the line. I wipe my free arm over the water and lift a handful of bubbles, bringing them close to my face. I watch as the candlelight illuminates an array of colors in the soap. The swirling of colors in the larger bubbles reminds me of a watercolor painting I saw hanging in some shop window downtown.

“So…” she breathes.

I blow the soap off my hand and turn my attention back to the conversation.

“So…” I answer, “You’re coming here tomorrow. Okay. What time? Do you know?”

“I’m thinking about leaving here around 6…”

I hear Braxton in the background upset about something and then I hear Quinn and Tim going back and forth about where his blanket is.

“Sorry” she apologizes, “…it’s bedtime.”

“No, no” I nod, “It’s cool. Wanna call me back?”

I hear her say something else; I’m guessing to Tim, before she comes back, “No, we’re good. So yeah, leave at six; hopefully be there around 10. Maybe, ya know, if you’re good with it, I might crash your couch? The drive home is kind of a bear.”

My smile grows, “Absolutely. My home is your home.”

“Thanks” she says with a nervous laugh, “There is one thing, though… I’m bringing a date. Is that okay?”

 _A date_ , I think. _Oh!_

“You’re bringing my little man?” I ask excitedly.

“Yeah” she giggles, “We’re kind of a packaged deal.”

“Can’t beat a 2-for-1 deal” I state happily, “But Where’s Tim?”

“He’s got budget meetings all week and they usually run pretty long. Their second quarter numbers aren’t looking so hot.”

“Yikes” I reply, “Didn’t that happen last year too? Or something like that?”

She clears her throat, “Yeah, first and third quarter numbers fell. They cut 82 jobs.”

“Tim’s not at risk is he?”

“We don’t know yet.” she answers quietly. “But…” she says in an elevated tone, “That’s a topic for another time. So, are you still in The Bronx? Do you have room for us in that tiny shed you call an apartment?”

“Oh yeah,” I pause to take a sip of wine, “You haven’t been up here since I moved.  I’m in Brooklyn now.  I found a place a block and a half from the office. It’s got a bedroom, half-study, full bath, kitchen and living room. So, plenty of room for you guys.”

Quinn nearly chokes on her words, “Jesus San! I don’t even want to imagine what you’re paying for all that in downtown Brooklyn.”

“Eh...” I shrug, “You’d be shocked what a nice pair of tits and a tight ass will get you with the right super.”

“Santana!” She gasps, “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with your super just to get a better apartment.”

A fruity laugh breaks from me as I reply, “You’ve been in New Haven too long. You forget the value of a good apartment in the city.”

A disgusted, “Ew” fills the line, “Noooo…”

“Oh stop. I’m not that shallow. I’d only go that low for a 2 bedroom in midtown” I joke, reclining back in the tub, “I just forget to wear pants when I’m taking my trash to the chute.”

She laughs, “You’re terrible, Santana.”

“Nah, I just know how to get what I want” I respond.

As our laughter dies down, I stretch my leg out of the water and tell myself not to let my thoughts—about not so much what I want but _who_ I want—come tumbling out of my mouth.

“Alright,” Quinn sighs, “I need to get upstairs; text me the new address. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” I state, “Get some sleep. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow; both of you.”

“I’m excited too. I know he’ll be happy to see you again.”

“Well…” I pause, delaying the inevitable, “Night, you.”

“Goodnight” she replies.

When the line goes dead, I set the receiver back on the rack that sits over the bath. I tip my head back and drain the rest of my wine, feeling its warming effects. I can’t say for sure if it’s the wine or the knowledge that Quinn and Braxton will be here tomorrow.  Normally my mind would already be running down a mental list of all of our old stomping grounds: bars, clubs, and random fun finds in the city. But instead I’m wondering if Columbus Park has a playground. Or if introducing Braxton to NYC public transportation would be worth a trip to the zoo at Prospect Park.

**\+     +     +     +     +     +**

“Shit” I mumble as I dig in the abyss known as my purse in search of the ringing phone. The cashier, who looks like she can’t be more than twelve, continues to drone on scanning boxes and bags and whatever else I let the sales chick in the back talk me into buying. When I finally find my phone, I swipe the screen and bring it to my ear.

“Hey! Sorry, I was…”

The cashier says something to me but I don’t catch it. When I look up at her, she's just staring at me as if I’m the dumbest person she’s ever seen.

“Q-Quinn, hang on a sec…”

I stare back at the cashier, already pissed off by her condescending look, “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Eight-seven.” she repeats flatly.

I feel my jaw drop, “Wha-? What is that?  Day’s till your 16th birthday or?”

“That’s the total, eighty-seven dollars” she says with an eye roll, “Cash or card?”

I fumble with the phone and my purse for my wallet, “Jesus Christ” I grumble. By the time I’ve pulled my card out, she’s tapping her tacky fake nails on the register and smacking on her gum.

She reaches out for the card and I snap it back, “I’m sorry, am I taking too much of your time?”

“Look lady, I want you out of here as much as you do. Eighty-seven dollars.”

Oh hell no, “You little shit, you really don’t want to…”

Through the phone comes a shout, “Santana!” Quinn continues, “Don’t kill anyone. I didn’t bring any bail money.”

I purse my lips and take a deep breath before tossing my credit card at the basic bitch, “It’s your lucky day.” I glare at the cashier as she hands my credit card back with a receipt about a mile long.

“Uh-huh. Have a good day ma’am” she sneers.

Quinn laughs through the line, “Come on Sixx, we’re a block away. Pay for whatever you're buying and come find us. Is your street metered parking? Or do I need to find a garage?”

I throw the card and crumpled receipt into my purse and snatch up the 7 bags of crap. With the phone still tightly tucked between my shoulder and ear, I exit the store out onto the street.

“It’s resident permit only. But I put my car in the garage, so I’m just going to give you my pass. If you find a spot, take it. Just, don’t wander too far if you get out of the car. Two months ago some guy across the street threw a party and there was nowhere to park. It was a mess. Most of the cars were towed, but ever since then the street’s under surveillance it feels like.  Patrol cops everywhere. If someone says anything, tell them you’re in 64 7B.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can find. How far away are you?”

I adjust one handful of bags, “About 9 minutes.”

“We’ll see you soon then” she replies.

“Bye.”

I step off to the side and lean against a building in order for me to juggle the bags and putting my phone away. _I should have hailed a cab,_ I think. I really wasn’t expecting to have this many bags. Those assholes at the store saw me coming from a mile away.

A few minutes later, rounding the corner to my street, I feel myself get nervous. But it’s more of an excited nervous. My eyes are already scanning the long rows of cars that line the street. I’m looking for that dark blue Jetta. I’m so busy looking for the car towards the end of the street that I walk right past my stoop.

“You looking for someone?”

My smile stretches so wide that my cheeks hurt. I turn around and see Quinn seated on the steps leading up to my buildings door. Her foot lightly pushes the stroller before her, rocking it gently.  

_How did I miss a stroller?_

“Yeah” I start, “There’s this girl; blonde hair, brown eyes, about so tall. Have you seen her?”

Quinn bites her lower lip and looks off down the street in thought. “Mmm” she hums, “No. I can’t say that I have.” She smiles up at me, “A girl huh? There’s always a girl” she sighs. “She must be something special.”

I step toward her and rest the bags at my feet. Leaning against the rail, I watch her, “She is; the one that got away kinda stuff. It’s a shame you didn’t see her.”

Quinn shrugs, a shy curl in her lips, “Well, I’m new to the area, and I’d love to hear about her sometime. What are you doing for dinner?”

I chuckle, “You’re forward, aren’t you?”

She stands, resting a hand on the  stroller and the other beside me on the rail, “I figure if I don’t make my move, you’ll just keep walking,” she nods down the street, “looking for the one that got away.”

I lean in, a few inches from her face, and I can smell her perfume.  My eyes close briefly as I let the scent wash over me, “I don’t think I’ll need to go very far.”

My voice is low, and probably a bit raspier than it should be for what’s supposed to be an innocent greeting at eleven o’clock in the morning. I open my eyes and she smiles at me before locking her arm around my neck and pulling me into a hug.

When we part, I lean over a little and see Braxton asleep in the stroller.

“I needed to get out of the car” Quinn states simply, “He barely even noticed the move from the car to the stroller. He’s out. He was up before five this morning.”

My nose curls a little at the thought of anything or anyone being up before 5am.  

I glance back out at the street, “Where did you park?”

“About 6 cars down” she points, “in front of that silver truck.”

“Here” I say, digging in my purse once again, “Go stick this on the top right corner of your window. Then we’ll go upstairs and get settled.”

Quinn takes the sticker and jogs down to the car. When I lift the bags off the ground, the noise wakes Braxton and he lets out a sleepy yawn. Sometimes I forget how damn cute this kid is. He looks around until his little hand grasps at the pacifier secured to his shirt. I reach down and place it in his mouth. His hand rests against my fingers and it makes me smile. He does this little breath-thing, I don’t know, like a quick inhale and then a slow exhale. It’s just cute. He sucks on the pacifier for a moment and his eyes fall closed again. He looks like Quinn when she sleeps.

“All set” she says, coming up behind me, “Ready?”

I nod and she reaches down, unclasps the buckle and gently lifts little man from his seat. He rests his head against her shoulder and I watch as with one step, she folds the stroller into this singular piece. It boggles my mind how those things work.

We climb the few stairs and I enter my code. When we reach the stairwell, I turn to her, “Just leave that here. I’ll come back down and get it.”

She nods and rests the stroller against the wall, “Well let me have some of your bags.”

“I got it” I say climbing the steps.

I hear her playfully mocking me from behind, “I got it.”

“Keep talking, Fabray” I warn before adding, “I guess I should call you Russell.”

“Uh, you’re a few years late on that one, San. But no, I’m Fabray to you.”

I try not to take too much pleasure in this little thing; the way she says it with such finality. It’s nothing really, but in a way, it gives me _my_ Quinn back. So, yeah, I’ll take it.

When we reach my door, I drop the bags once more and pull my keys out of my pocket. I usher her in and follow her through the short hallway that dumps into the living room.

“Home sweet home” I say, finally tossing the bags on the couch for good.

Quinn now stands behind me and sways slowly, patting the baby’s back as she moves, “This is cute!”

Her eyes move throughout the space, examining the kitchen/dining area. Taking in the living room, she nods toward the 3 large windows that extend out with a small bay, “I love those.”

“And this floor…” she trails off, the toe of her shoe running across the sanded knots in the antique wood, “Is it original?”

I nod, tossing my keys on the coffee table, “Yeah, 1920-something. They had to replace a few boards here and there, but overall, yeah, all original.”

“I like that” she nods toward the small brick fireplace that sits below the mounted television. It has pillared, white candles throughout as well as a few teal and silver ones.

“I figured if I can’t use it as an actual fireplace, I could at least use it to set the mood.”

She cocks her head at me and chuckles, “When have you ever been one to want to ‘set the mood’?”

With a shoulder shrug, I reply, “Maybe I’m into foreplay now.”

“Uh-huh. Foreplay,” she hums, “good to know.”

I swallow back my instinct to bite her bait, and move toward the other hallway off the living room. I motion for her to follow.

“This” swinging the door open, “is the study, or office.”

She looks over my shoulder into the small space, “Jesus, that’s a lot of stuff.”

My eyes rake over the full corkboards, the post-it’s that line my desk, the promotional images of clients that sit in stacks of photographs, the pile of padded envelopes containing demo CD’s and more. Yeah, I would agree with her assessment.

“Well, you know I’ve never been the most organized person.”

I move on to the next open door on the right, “Bathroom” I state simply.

She reaches out and pushes the door to our left open, “Bedroom, I assume?”

“Where the magic happens” I laugh, watching as she makes her way in the room on her own accord.

The room is not huge by any means, but it fits my queen size bed nicely. Along the far wall is all exposed brick, original from the building. It adds a real urban feel to the space. My platform bed sits against the wall, headboard nestled tightly against the brick. Above the bed is a large painting, its abstract but the grays and blacks on the canvas pop against the stark maroon. A reading lamp is mounted to the wall on either side of the headboard. There are two wooden shelves that match the bed mounted as well. Each contains various magazines and books that I’m reading.

The bed itself is dressed in white; the many pillows that sit atop the down comforter alternate between, black, silver and teal. At the foot of the bed rests a black throw. There is a tall dresser against the side wall. It’s made of weathered wood, hints of the original white coat in its cracks. The wall at the foot of the bed mirrors the fireplace in the living room, again with candles. The TV mounted in the bedroom is considerably smaller than that in the living room, but suits the space. The final wall houses the small closet; the bane of my existence. They billed it as ‘spacious walk-in’, that’s a joke. It’s maybe a 5’x5’ space. There’s one pile of shoes in the far back corner that reaches as high as the hangers. But, it’s enough.

Quinn makes her way over to the shallow mantle. She lightly bounces Braxton, keeping him asleep. Her eyes scan over the few photographs I have in frames. She stops on a photograph of herself. It’s printed in black and white, a close up of her profile. She’s looking down and laughing. Even though you can't directly see them, you know her eyes are shining. Her smile sets the tone for the image.

“What is this from?” she asks quietly, never looking away from the photograph.

I move behind her and sit down on the foot of the bed. My legs cross and I clasp my hands around my knee. I smile, recalling the memory of that moment.

“That was from the last time you were here.”

She looks over her shoulder at me, a hint of sadness and regret in her features. Things didn’t end well the last time she was here. I swallow hard and shrug.

“It was the day before. Remember? We went walking; you brought your camera with you because we were going to the memorial.”

I can see the wheels turning, so I continue, “You kept taking pictures of me. Like, every few seconds. So I grabbed your camera and turned it on you.”

“Oh yeah” she says lightly, turning to face me, “You tripped over that construction hose and nearly busted your ass.” She smiles at me, “I was so afraid you dropped the camera.”

“Thanks for being worried about me” I huff.

She purses her lips, “Oh come on, you were cussing so loudly they could hear you downtown. I think I saw one of the construction workers actually cower listening to you. You were fine.”

“Anyway” I continue, “Your precious camera was safe.” I pause, looking up at the photo, “When you were asleep that night, I was up watching some shity infomercial. Your laptop was open to the folder with all the photos from the day. I scrolled through them and I found that one. I really don’t even know what was happening when I snapped it, but I just remember thinking, if there was ever a photo that would capture you, it was that one. I fell in love with that photo. So I sent it to my email, and then went to bed.”

“That’s what you were doing that night.” Her eyes glance back to the image and she speaks softly, “I remember you crawling into bed and telling me you loved me.”

We both remain quiet for a moment, just the sounds of Braxton’s breathing between us. Her head hangs a bit and she gnaws on her lip, “I never meant to hurt you.”

With a sigh, I push up off the bed, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend a long time thinking that was exactly what you meant to do.”

“Santana…” Her voice is brittle, “That whole weekend was never supposed to happen. But I couldn’t let you go. Not yet.”

I wrap myself in a loose embrace, my hands running up my arms, “Look Quinn, that was then. It took me a long time to move past it, but” I breathe, “I did. We did. And here we are.” I smile softly, and turn back to the photo, “It’s one of my favorites.”

I reach over towards the end of the mantle and grab the loose photograph that slipped between two frames, “That one and this one.”

She takes the photo from my hand and a smile grows on her lips.

The photo is of her and Braxton when he was 5 months old. It was the first time I had met him. The first time I had seen her since our last night together. She was lying on the couch with him asleep on her chest. I remember sitting across from them in a chair in her living room and I thinking that that was the most beautiful I had ever seen her. Motherhood suited her. I took out my phone and asked her to look at me. When she did, her soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips while her hand rubbed gentle circles on the baby’s back.

Quinn eyed the photo a few seconds more before reaching out and tucking it in the corner of the frame containing her photo. When she turns back to me, her free hand cups my jaw and she leans in, placing a warm kiss against my cheek.

She steps back and maneuvers her hands under Braxton’s arms, turning him and handing him to me. I take him awkwardly, wondering what she’s doing. She helps as I settle him against me. Taking another step back she slips her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and watches us with a content smile. I cradle him, taking in the smell of lavender, baby oil and formula.

Quinn rocks on her toes and then steps to us again. She leans in and kisses the side of his head, running her fingers through his sandy hair. Her eyes lift and we stand motionless. There is so much left unsaid in her gaze and I know she reflects my feelings.

“I’m going to go get the rest of our bags from the car. What’s your code?”

“101394” I say quietly.

“Your birthday” she says with a grin, “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“Mmkay.”

And with that, she’s down the hall and out the door. I look down at Braxton, blissfully unaware of the emotions surrounding him, and sigh, “Kid… I’m still so in love with your mom.”     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter two. I truly hope you enjoyed it. I hope to post chapter three soon. Thank you for your patience.


	3. Songbird

The afternoon was nice. We managed to unload the car and rest a bit while Braxton napped. Quinn started to doze off herself about the time he decided he’d slept long enough. After a few minutes of chasing him around the apartment to put his jacket on, we took off for a trip to Columbus Park.

The weather was beautiful. The leaves were turning, but the air lacked the normal nip for November. Braxton enjoyed the swings and toddling through the grass. Quinn and I managed to keep the conversation moving, chatting about work and some of the projects I have coming up. I knew that eventually one of us would stumble over the fact that today is Beth’s 10th birthday. But for the time being, I was able to keep her focused on Braxton and his upcoming birthday. Anytime I began to sense that she was slipping, I would pull us to another area of the park. By evening we were planted near the pond, watching the ducks swim and admiring the city as the sun began to set.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.” I pause, glancing out around at the park and the faces that fill it, “It’s pretty.”

Braxton squeals from his stroller beside me. Laughing and grabbing at the ducks as they fly in and out of the water. Quinn sits on the opposite side of the stroller, taking up the other half of the blanket she’d laid down for us. Her legs outstretched and crossed, propped up on her hands. She looks relaxed. A much less tense version of the Quinn I encountered just a few days ago.  

“Do you think she’s happy?”

Leaning forward, I glance around Braxton and watch her for a moment.

“Of course she is.”

Quinn lets out a heavy sigh and sits up. Her hands find the hem of her shirt as she nervously runs the material between her fingers.

“I made the right decision...”

It’s a statement, but her tone suggests it’s more of an unasked question.

“I mean, with Shelby and all.” Her head tilts and she faces me, “You don’t think there’s a mini Rachel Berry running around with my eyes do you?”

There’s a playful light in her eyes when she cracks a smile at me.

“Shelby may have given birth to Rachel, but Rachel is her own breed. Trust me. Now, I’m not saying there isn’t some little girl dressed up in a cheer outfit somewhere singing show tunes, but a mini Rachel Berry, no.”

She lets out a breathy laugh and glances out across the water, “You know I know as a parent you’re supposed to want things for your kids. You want them to be healthy, to be happy. You want them to fit in while being unique. When I think about Beth, I don’t see cheer outfits or high-ponies. I think about all the stress my mother put on me to be the perfect little girl. I don’t think I owned pants until fourth grade. My hair always had to be so, my dresses had to be hung a certain way. Even at my most awkward, when I thought there was no way my mother would waste her time on me, she still managed to make sure I had on something frilly; Judy’s little girl. My sister got off easy; she and my dad were always close.”

Quinn takes a few seconds to focus. I can tell she’s a little further out in a memory, so I stay quiet, let her find her way back. When she does, she brushes her hair behind her ears and smiles at me.

“When I think about Beth, I see her in overalls and comfortable t-shirt and some tennis shoes. I think about her hair falling down around her face in a low hanging pony tail. She spends her time outside, playing with the other kids. She explores, tries things. She learns it’s more important to be a good person than it is to know how to apply blush. That’s how I imagine Beth. And if she wants to wear dresses all the time, then so be it. I just like to think that she’s been given a childhood where she can be herself. That’s what I want for my daughter.”

“You’ve given her that.”

She looks at me, tears brimming in her eyes as she chews on the corner of her lip.

“You made the decision to give your daughter the life she deserved. I don’t think you realize how strong that makes you.”

Quinn scoffs, wiping the corner of her eye, “I think I lost some of my cred when I went a little crazy trying to get her back.”

“Yeah, you uh… you went a little ‘Hand that rocks the cradle’ there for a bit.”

Her mouth gapes and she eyes me tightly for a beat before nodding with a conceding grin, “I deserved that.”

My hands fly up in defense as I chuckle at her, “Hey, I’m just saying.”

She moves to get on her knees, crawling over to Braxton, “Yeah, Yeah.”

“But, hey…” I reach out and cover her hand with mine, “You fixed it. You made things right. In the end, that’s all that matters. You did the right thing, Quinn.”

She gives my hand a squeeze and then leans in to unbuckle Braxton. He giggles and hollers when she lifts him. His hands continue to grasp at the birds while he sputters, “Duck! Duck! Duck!”

“You may be right, but you’re on Braxton duty for that comment.” She lowers him onto my lap and lifts off her knees, “I need to go to the bathroom. You two have fun.”

Not five seconds after she leaves, Braxton bolts off my lap, headed for a flock of ducks that are loitering along the edge of the pond. I reach out and grab the back of his shirt and he plops down on his butt, still laughing. His arms flail and he leans forward on his hands, bound and determined to stand but up and chase after those ducks. I release him only for a moment, just long enough to hook my hands under his arms and lift him above me. He squeals and flails when I bring him closer and blow a raspberry against the little bit of stomach peeking out from beneath his zipped jacket. His laughter falls all around me while he screeches, “Again! Again” and it makes my heart melt.

After a few more raspberries, I tent my knees and set him in my lap. His hands tangle in my hair and he twists it around in his little fingers. The color is a stark comparison to his mothers. He’s always been fascinated with my hair. Even when I first held him at 5 months, his tiny hands clasped around the loose strands. Once when he was 11 months old, he decided my hair was a snack.

“Hey, you wanna start heading back to the apartment?”

Her voice floats from behind me and I eye the ducks before turning back to the baby.

“Braxton,” His eyes find me and he smiles, “Wanna go see the ducks?”

His hands clap and he gives and enthusiastic “Uh-huh! Ducks!”

As soon as Quinn steps to the stroller, I lift up bringing him with me and let her know we’re going to go see the ducks first. She nods and starts packing up the blanket.

I carry him on my hip until we’re close enough to the ducks. When we reach the side of the pond, I crouch down and settle him between my knees. This way I can still have a good hold on him but let him to get pretty close.

His eyes dart from side to side, taking in the impressive number of fowl in our immediate area. Braxton “Ooo’s”   and “Ahh’s”, pointing out the colors he knows, telling me if they are big ducks or small ducks. At one point I just find myself looking at him in awe. This little boy is so incredibly smart. He’s so observant and even when he says something simple like, “Blue” you can see his mind working. He glances up at the sky and I wonder if a color connection is being made.

“Look, ‘Tana”, he points excitedly at a duck that’s stretching its wings wide several feet from us.

His excitement is short lived when the animal begins charging toward our direction after another duck. Braxton lets out a small scream and turns, practically climbing up my body using my hair as his leverage. I simply lift him and cradle him to me, “It’s okay buddy. The duck wasn’t coming for you. See... Braxton, look.”

With his head still tucked against my shoulder and his hands clasped tightly around my neck, he turns a little and observes the animals. I point to them and explain, “They were having a fight. The duck wasn’t coming for you.”

He loosens his grip and swats in the direction of the quaking, “Bad ducks” he yells.

Brushing his hair off his forehead, I ask him, “Do you want to get back down and watch them some more or are you ready to get back in the stroller?”

He relaxes against me, his eyes watching the ducks from afar, “‘roller” he mumbles.

“Okay.”

I hitch him back up on my hip and we climb up the small hill where Quinn now waits on a park bench watching us. She’s wearing a relaxed smile, her features are soft, eyes bright. She stands when we reach the bench and reaches out, taking Braxton from me and settling him in the stroller.

“Did you see the ducks, baby boy?”

Braxton nods his head, watching her hands snap him in, “uh-huh.”

He reaches up and backward, grasping at open air, “Drink?”

Quinn reaches for the blue and green sippy cup that rests in the tray by the handle, “Here.”

She pulls his hood over his sandy hair and zips his jacket all the way before leaning down and puckering her lips.

Theres a pop followed by a small hiss from his cup as he pulls it from his lips and gives his mother a kiss.

“Love you” she says.

“Love you” he replies, mimicking her tone.

They really are beautiful together. Before the ache can start in my chest, I inhale deeply and force a smile, “Ready?”

“Yep, we’re ready.”

 

~ * ~

 

“How did we end up with this much food?”

I lean back with a deep breath and take stock of the dining table littered with half empty little white takeout boxes. Changsha chicken, what used to be fried wontons, chow fun, jasmine rice, Peking pork, fried bananas, broccoli beef, and a bag of fortune cookies. Who needs 20 fortune cookies?

Quinn leans against the back of her chair, one leg tucked beneath her, the other resting on the chair beside her. She shakes her head and laughs at my question. Plucking a piece of edamame from the box in her hand and sucking on the pod, her shoulders bounce with mirth, “I really have no idea.”

I giggle at her simple answer. The movement makes my stomach hurt more than it already does but I can’t stop. I mean, how ridiculous is this? My hands find my full stomach, “Ugh, god… How are you still eating? I can barely move.”

She stretches her leg out and uses her toes to poke playfully at my expanded core, “Maybe had you shared the wontons instead of eating them all…”

I swat her foot away, fighting off the urge to throw-up. She retracts with a smirk and glances over at Braxton. He sits beside her, strapped into a portable high-chair. The small gerber graduates tray in front of him holds what little he didn’t decide to either eat or wear. He’s got the spoon concept down pretty well, but he finds it more amusing to see how far the spoon will make the food fly rather than how quickly it gets the food in his mouth. Quinn took his spoon away about 10 minutes ago after catching a gravy covered pea down the front of her shirt.

Leaning over, she cards her fingers through his hair and her face scrunches when a carrot falls down between him and the chair.

“Buddy, you’re a mess.”

He smiles up at her and grabs a fistfull of diced carrots and peas, shoveling them into his mouth.

Quinn picks up the spoon and scoops the remainder of the chicken left on the tray, “Last bite. Then we need to get you cleaned up.”

He stops mid-lean and looks up excitedly, “Bath?”

“Yes. Bath and then night-night.”

He takes the spoonful of food and wiggles back and forth happily in the chair. Quinn drops the spoon in the empty tray and pulls it away from grabby hands. She turns back to me and points at the plastic bag at the end of the table.

“Hey, hand me one of those, please.”

Reaching over, I bury my hand in the bag and pull out a fortune cookie and hand it to her. She opens it and cracks the cookie, revealing the small white sliver of paper. She reads it silently and then tosses half of the cookie in her mouth.

I watch her for a minute as she chews, “Well…”

She shakes her head no and then pops the other half of the cookie in her mouth, “Uh-uh” she hums.

“Come on, what did it say?”

I reach out for the paper in her hand and she snaps it away, holding up her finger, effectively telling me not to touch it. She goes one step further and presses her finger against my forehead and lightly pushes me back with a smile.

When she swallows, she grabs her glass of water and takes a sip.

“We don’t grab things, Santana.”

Her tone is firm and motherly. She faces Braxton, “Do we grab things out of Mommy’s hand, buddy?”

He shakes his head vehemently, “No grabbing, ‘Tana.”

She turns back to me, a toothy smile stretched across her face, “No grabbing, ‘Tana.”

“So you two are gonna tag-team me, huh?”

Quinn lifts up from her chair, and hands me the paper, “Here. Nosey.”

I snatch it from her when she rounds the chair toward Braxton. Holding it between my fingers, I read the small blue print: You will find something soon that has been lost to you.

“I’m glad you have hardwood floors.”

“Huh?”

I glance at Quinn as she lifts Braxton out of his seat and then lean forward to look under the table. The floor has a colorful array of vegetables strewn about as well as a few little pieces of gravy covered chicken thrown in the mix.

“I’ll clean it up after his bath.”

As soon as she says that, Braxton grabs her face, slathering gravy from his fingers along her cheeks.

“Let me rephrase that, after our bath.”

I chuckle at her subtle tone laced with frustration and exhaustion.

She grabs the diaper bag on her way out of the room, “We’ll be back.”

“Towels are in the hall closet.”

“Thank you” she sings.

When I hear the water start running, I begrudgingly push up from my chair. I pause for a moment, allowing the contents of my stomach to settle. Ugh. What was I thinking? Stepping forward I begin clearing the table. Dishes in the sink, left overs boxed up and in the fridge. After I wipe down the table and Braxton’s chair, I wipe the gravy off the floor and sweep the leftover pieces into the dust pan. Once the dining room is clean, I grab Quinn’s suitcase along with Braxton’s crib and roll them into the bedroom. I set the portable bed up beside my bed and leave the bedding for Quinn to set up however she wants. Once I gather some clothes to sleep in and my pillow, I head back toward the living room.  

When I pass the bathroom, I hear them both laughing. The sound makes me smile. His squealing, her playful comments to him. She begins to sing something to him, something about ducks and soon I hear him chime in with her. I pull myself away from the closed door with a gentle sigh. I could really get used to that particular sound in my home.

I change into a pair of sweats and a tank top before grabbing some sheets and an extra blanket from the hall closet to set up the couch. When I get situated, I turn on the TV and settle on the news. It isn't long after that I hear Quinn padding down the hallway toward me.   

“Where are the bags?”

I glance her way and find myself at a loss for words. She stands at the end of the hallway wrapped in a light blue towel with her hair falling in damp strands around her shoulders. Her skin is a soft pink color from the warm bath. Bare of any cosmetics or actual clothing, she is as beautiful as I ever remember her. Braxton is cradled in her arms, wrapped in a smaller grey towel with his head pressed against her chest. His eyes are sleepy and he’s losing the battle to stay awake.

I point back toward the hallway and she follows the direction of my finger.

“You okay, San?”

Her furrowed brow and tone shake me from my stupor. I swallow hard and find my words.

“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I put your stuff in the bedroom.”

“Oh, okay.”

She nods and turns back down the hallway, stopping just a second afterward and peering around the corner at me.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah” I reply with a nod, “Just tired I guess.”

I shoot her a smile and she nods, disappearing down the hall once more.

I reach over and lift my macbook off the coffee table, “Let’s see what kind of fires started today while I was out.”

My nightly scroll through my email is short lived when I hear my name called from down the hallway.

“Santana, can you come here please?”

I make my way to the bedroom and find Quinn bent over the bed, still wrapped in her towel, pulling a shirt covered in dinosaurs over Braxton’s head. He reaches beside him on the bed and seeks out the loose pacifier before promptly putting it in his mouth.

“You rang…”

She glances back at me over her shoulder and smirks when she catches my eyes on the perfect round of her ass. That towel slides up one more inch and I’ll be seeing more of Quinn than I’ve seen in years. I take a settling breath and lean against the doorframe.

“I told you I was going to crash on your couch. I don’t want to kick you out of your own bedroom.”

“Oh please, like I’m going to make you sleep on the couch. You’ve got the kid, you need to have space incase he has a nightmare or something.”

“San-”

“Quinn, don’t argue with me. You guys are in here.”

With my arms crossed over my chest, we stare each other down for a minute. She fights it, but a smile begins to crack at the corner of her lips.

“Fine. I won’t argue with you. Do you mind keeping him occupied so I can get dressed and get his bedding set up?”

I make my way to the bed and sit down next to Braxton who is lying flat on his back playing with his feet in the air.

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.”

I lean back on my elbow and prop up beside him. His brown eyes seek me out and mumbles something through his pacifier.

“I can’t understand you, Brax. Lemmie have that…”

With a reach I swipe his pacifier from him and his face contorts like he’s unsure if he should be mad or if its a game. Finally he lets his feet go and swings wildly at my hand.

“Mine!”

My eyes squint and I rub my nose against his tiny one, “Nuh-uh, this is mine.”

When my fingers dance across his stomach he breaks out into a fit of laughter. His little body rolls until he flops on his hands and knees and pushes up. He uses my shoulder as leverage to pull himself up steady enough on the cushioned bed. He reaches down and grabs my hand holding the pacifier. When I don’t open my hand for him, he leans his whole body against me and uses both hands to pry my fingers open. He snatches the pacifier and pops it in his mouth again with a huge grin.

“Mine, ‘Tana!” he mumbles proudly.

My mouth gapes in feigned shock as I reach for him quickly and scoop him against my chest. His body curls around my arm as he laughs. When I settle him to me, he lays tucked tightly between me and the mattress. He looks up from his back and he’s gone from laughing and smiling to calm and content. A yawn escapes his tiny lips and his small fists rub his tired eyes.

“Sleepy, buddy?”

He nods his head and reaches up, weaving his fingers absentmindedly through the hair that drapes over my shoulder. The soft sounds of him sucking on the pacifier mix with his calm breathing and his eyes fall closed. His fingers continue to lace gently in and out of my hair as I watch his chest rise and fall. Every few seconds his eyes open, as if he’s afraid he’ll miss something.

_“For you, there’ll be no more crying. For you, the sun will be shining.”_

At the sound of my voice, his eyes open and he watches me with those big brown eyes. The same eyes I fell in love with years ago. I brush his hair back against his head gently, over and over as I sing to him.

_“And I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right. To you, I’ll give the world. To you, I’ll never be cold. ‘Cause I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right.”_

His eyelids drop and he releases a shuddered breath before relaxing completely. His hand slips from my hair and rests between us.  

_“And the songbirds are singing like they know the score. And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before.”_

He’s such a beautiful little boy. His cheeks still pink from the bath. His fine eyelashes. The way his nose is the perfect shape. His ears belong to his father, which is not a bad thing. Braxton is the perfect combination of Timothy and Quinn. His sandy hair is smooth until the tip, where loose curls add more innocence to him than I could ever imagine. Ten perfect fingers. Ten perfect toes. This beautiful baby boy belongs to Quinn. She made this perfect little human. I feel overwhelmed with pride, admiration and love. This incredible woman, this beautiful boy, they both have my heart.

_“And I wish you all the love in the world…”_

My eyes lift to the voice that now carries the second verse of the song. Quinn rests against the door frame in her sleep shorts and a t-shirt, watching me with a smile that I can’t even begin to explain. It sends shivers down my back and butterflies fluttering in my gut. She begins to walk toward us, softly singing.

_“...But most of all, I wish it from myself.”_

When she reaches the bed, she crawls in opposite Braxton and me and settles there. His eyes crack only briefly and fall closed again when he sees his mother. He reaches out and Quinn takes his small hand in hers, bringing the tiny fist to her lips.

Her eyes lift and they hold mine, unwavering as she sings.

_“And the songbirds keep singing like they know the score. And I love you , I love you, I love you like never before.”_

_“Like never before”_ we sing together, trailing off into a whisper.

I know if I don’t leave now, I won't. But when Quinn gently sets Braxtons hand down on his stomach and reaches for mine, I know I really never had a choice.

“Stay.”

I nod, worrying my lower lip. She lifts up softly, trying to not disturb the baby. She lays down the small mattress in his crib and places the bedding on it. I lean down and place a kiss against his temple before she lifts her sleeping son as if he weighs nothing at all. She tells him she loves him and kisses between his sleepy eyes as she lays him down.

I haven't moved from my spot when she turns back around. She turns the lamp off and climbs the bed, replacing the spot Braxton had held before her. She turns slightly and presses her back against me. I feel her hand reach for mine and she pulls my arm around her waist. I don’t need any further instruction. I pull her tightly to me and take in the smell of her shampoo. My arm drops and as I lay my head down behind her I stop and place a kiss on her shoulder. She leans into the caress and sighs deeply.

My arm lays out above us and her free hand finds mine. Our fingers lace together and it feels as if we’re bonding together through the grasp. I take a long, cleansing breath and close my eyes, breathing in all that she is.

 

~ * ~

 

When my eyes open, it takes me a second to remember why I’m sleeping parallel on the bed and why Quinn is asleep against me. I lift my head and groan at the pain that shoots through my neck. My eyes focus in the dark of the room and I glance at the alarm clock: 11:34pm

We’ve been out for about 3 hours. I’m a night person–always have been–so with this little power nap, I know I’m not going to be able to get back to sleep anytime soon. I turn my attention back to Quinn. She’s sound asleep, having rolled onto her stomach, with her head resting on my arm. Which, the moment I try and move, begins to tingle to life and I know it’s going to be pins and needles any minute now.

I ease out from under her and lift off the bed as quietly as possible. Reaching down, I grab the throw at the foot of the bed and lay it over her sleeping frame. A quick glance down at Braxton, his pacifier bobbing gently against his cheeks, and I leave the room. I pull the door closed behind me, leaving it cracked just a little, and head back into the living room.

After making a fresh glass of water, I settle back in against the couch and pick up where I left off. The list of emails has seemed to double in the three hours I was asleep. Ugh, good thing I’m wide awake, this is going to take me a while.

The next time I glance down at the clock on my laptop it reads 2:19am. I pull my hands away from the keys, allowing them to stretch. My head rolls from side to side and I can feel some of the tension from earlier releasing.

“Well this feels familiar.”

I glance over and find Quinn leaning against the hallway corner.

“Hey,” I reach for the remote and drop the volume from 8 to 4, worried it was too loud, “...did I wake you?”

She shakes her head no and pads over to the couch. I watch her as she pulls back the blanket I have wrapped around my feet and settles in against my side. She drapes the blanket back over us both and rests her head against my side beneath the crook of my elbow. It’s a bit awkward, but it allows me to keep typing.

“What are you working on?”

“A contract for a new artist the firm wants to sign. How I got stuck writing the contracts is beyond me, but independent label means dependent workloads.”

“Mmmm. Sounds fun.”

“Thrilling.”

She chuckles at my lack of enthusiasm and nuzzles closer to me.

“Thank you for today.”

I realize that I’m not going to be able to focus on the legalities of the contract with her in my lap, and frankly, I don’t want to. Work can wait.

I lean forward and set the computer on the coffee table then settle back into our embrace. My arm encircles her and she stretches out. My hand instinctively goes to her hair and starts brushing through it, letting it fall along the curve of her neck and then repeating.

“You’re welcome. We really didn’t do much though.”

“Santana, it’s not about what we do. It’s not about the city. It’s you.”

I purse my lips, searching for something to say, but she chimes in before I can say anything.  

“You just make me feel…” She pauses, arching her neck closer to my fingers, “You make me feel that everything is going to be alright.”

“You did good today. You were-”

“Saner?”

I swat her shoulder playfully while we both laugh, “I was going to say more at peace. But if you want me to say you were more sane…”

“More at peace. Leave it there, Lopez.”

“Okay.”

We’re blanketed by a comfortable silence. My fingers combing through her hair. Her arm laid across my abdomen, fingers drawing lazy circles on the lower half of my back. It all feels so natural. I’ve missed this level of comfort.

“Hey…” I untangle us and she sits up, “I have something for you.”

I raise from my seat and make my way to the kitchen. When I drop back down beside her, my hands are full. Two forks in one hand, a lighter tucked beneath my pinky. In the other, a small plate that holds a square white box with a teal logo printed on the top.

Her hands cover her mouth in shock, “Oh my god, You went to Billy’s? Santana…”

“Yes” I giggle, “Here, take these for a me.”

She grabs the forks and lighter from me, all the while a huge smile stretching across her face.

I open the top of the box and reach in. When my hand pulls back, it comes with an immaculately decorated red velvet cupcake. Quinn gasps and claps her hands together silently, trying not to wake Braxton.

“Santana, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a red velvet cupcake from Billy’s? Any cupcake that doesn't come from a box or a Market Street bakery for that matter?”

She watches as I set the cupcake down on the well balanced plate atop my knee. Her eyes never leave the cupcake, like it’s going to disappear or something. It’s actually beyond cute, its achingly adorable.

“I’m gonna guess it’s been a while.”

“Well, seeing as how I only ever went to Billy’s with you, yeah, it’s been a long time.”

I set the box on the table beside us and reach in once more pulling out a solid pink candle. I push it down into the mound of white frosting and hold out my hand.

“Lighter, please.”

Quinn hands me the lighter, her face a bit more composed upon realizing why I bought the cupcake.

“Okay, so I know its a few hours past, but I thought we could sing Beth Happy Birthday.”

Her face stays muted for a few moments. I begin to wonder if this was the right thing to do. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her. To make her feel any pain at all. I bought the pastry yesterday on the off chance this year was going to be a good year. And if it wasn't, well, cupcakes are good all the time, right? But after today, and how well she dealt with it, I thought this would be something we could do to celebrate Beth. _God, please don’t let me have misread everything._     

Her hand lifts and she takes the lighter from my hand. With the flick of her thumb, the flame ignites. Her eyes lift to mine finally and in the orange glow I can see the pool of unshed tears in her eyes.

She lights the candle.

_“Happy Birthday to you...”_

I chime in along with her and together we sing to her daughter on her tenth birthday. When we finish, I hold the cupcake to her and she leans in, blowing out the flame.

With the thin bands of smoke billowing up between us, she leans over and kisses me. It’s not a kiss of passion, or a kiss of longing or loneliness. This is a thank you. And as soon as she’s against my lips, she’s gone.

“Thank you” she whispers.

I smile at her, reaching up and wiping the stray tear that broke free from the rest.

“Can you handle this cupcake, Fabray? I don’t know if you can.”

She laughs lightly, flipping the fork in her fingers like an expertly wielded weapon.

“Oh, I’m ready. Are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with the third chapter. Holidays tend to make things a little harder to work on. I truly hope you enjoyed this chapter. It didn't span much time but I felt it was pivotal to developing bonds. It made me smile to write it. My hope is that it left you smiling too.
> 
> For anyone looking, here is Naya Rivera's version of Songbird from glee that helped spur this chapter on: http://youtu.be/v0bYmsu8XD4
> 
> Thank you again and I'll see you soon for chapter 4!
> 
> Melissa  
> burlesonspride.tumblr.com


	4. Stolen Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this story. In return I have doubled the usual length of the chapter. I truly hope you enjoy and I look forward to working on chapter 5 for you very soon. Thank you!

Hot.

That’s what I feel. The harder my feet hit the floor, the more heat surrounds me. I feel bodies all around me, I see mouths moving and hands waving but none of it registers. The sound of the music pumps through me as it beats back every advance. Lights shower down in broken beams; a rainbow of color drenching the countless figures that move with me. When the beat speeds up my body races to catch it. And when it drops, my breath catches me just in time for me to take off once more. The thin layer of sweat that coats my body only adds to the sensations. Motions carry me against bodies like mine, wet and hot. It’s dirty and slick and yet I don’t ever want it to stop.  My hair sticks to my wet forehead and no matter how hard I sway my head or how many attempts I make to brush it away, I still manage to view the world under a veil of dark strands. Confetti clings to my legs, climbing its way up. It coats my arms, bare back and has joined the glitter that peppers my hair. The smell is an odd mixture of sweat, alcohol and sulfur.

It’s only when I feel a hand grip my hip and an equally warm body press against my back that my senses break from their overdrive. Hot breath sends a shiver down my spine followed by a whimper when soft lips brush along the contour of my ear.

“LAST ONE. DRINK UP.”

I turn and face the voice. It belongs to Lindsay; the 5’9” brunette with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Lindsay, who a little over a year ago began working at the studio as our in house producer. She’s also the woman who has shared my bed on more than one occasion over the past 7 months.

“WHAT IS IT?” I shout against the pounding bass.

She shoots me a sexy smirk and shoves the clear, small plastic cup in my hand.

“DRINK”

She brings a matching cup to her lips and knocks back the glowing liquid. I watch her, a moment of clarity washing over me, briefly escaping from the mind fuck I’ve given myself with liquor tonight.  

Lindsay and me, it’s so simple that it’s complicated. We’ve never asked more of each other past sex. She does her thing, I do mine and when we feel the urge, we find each other. She and I disagree on everything. We fight about the fucking color of brick. There is nothing there that should make any sense. But when she’s under me, when her eyes roll back, when the only word she knows is my name, and her nails dig into my back… who the fuck cares what we have in common? There is no love there. We appreciate one another, but in a very different way. When I want to feel something, when I want to know someone wants me as badly as I want them, Lindsay has never left me wanting long. And the same can be said for her. There are no rules, there are no labels. At least that’s how it’s supposed to be. In a few moments of weakness, we’ve found each other at the others doorstep in need of something; something that would require our hearts to be exposed. Those nights find us curled around one another, still and not saying a word.  Sometimes I wonder if in those moments, we’ve found something we’re just too afraid to admit to ourselves. Or maybe we’ve found nothing, and that scares us just as much. We’ve both been burned. And ask any burn victim, they’ll tell you they never play with fire again.

But for the past two months, I’m the one who’s been playing with fire; one that burns brightly in the golden flecks that swim in a sea of hazel. I struck the match and three weeks ago, I stood in the middle of a pool of gasoline and let the flames lick my body.

“Fuck it”

The only burn I want to feel tonight is the one that laces its way down my throat and numbs me from the inside out. I down my shot and reach for Lindsay; finding her mouth I lose myself in the beat and those beautifully swollen lips. We pull apart and her arms circle my neck as we both move to the song thumping around us.

“Happy New Year” she yells, grinning from ear to ear.

After a few more songs I untangle myself from the crowd and find my way to the corner booth. I silently thank God that the studio had the forethought to reserve this spot back in August. The club is packed and there is not an open seat anywhere. My feet feel like they’re about to fail me so I reach for the low table and drop down against the plush material of the seat, my head resting back against the wall. The percussion vibrates the wall and at this point it’s no longer music, but instead a string of body wracking bass hits. All night I’ve felt nothing, my body numb to everything but the liquor and the music. But now I can feel a dull ache everywhere. It’s only a promise of what I’ll feel tomorrow I’m sure.

“I thought we’d lost you out there.”

My head rolls until my hazy vision lands on Adam. He’s been my boss for years and seems to be the only man in the entirety of New York City who isn’t threatened by me. When he opened the recording studio three years ago, I was his one and only call. He needed a publicist and wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

He sits back against the booth with his boyfriend Ryan seated on his lap sipping a beer.

Adam smiles over at me, his eyes alight with the craziness of the evening, “Began to think I’d have to find a new publicist.”

“Adam, your jokes are terrible. You couldn’t replace me if you tried.”

I point to the purse slung on Ryan’s arm and curl my finger, “Uh-uh, give it here.”

Ryan pouts as Adam slides the bag off his arm and hands it to me, “Come on Santana, you’re breaking his heart. It’s Stella McCartney.”

“Get your own Ryan”

“You’re the cruelest bitch on this fucking island, Sani”

With a raised brow and a smirk sent in Ryan’s direction, I bow in my seat, “But you love me. And you don’t even like Stella, so shut up you Jimmy Choo whore and give me my purse.”

Ryan, in his best dramatic flair, feigns utter shock before a devilish grin crawls across his thin lips.

“Adam, she hurts me so. Can we take her home?”

My clutch whips through the air and slaps playfully against his leg, “Wanky.”

I lean back with a grin and begin to fish my phone from the small case while Ryan and Adam fall back into their own little world.

Scrolling through the messages, they all read _Happy New Year_ or _Wish you were here._ I’ve got a hundred messages but I’m really only scanning the lot for one. Her name is at the bottom of the list; the last message being from 7 days ago. _Merry Christmas_ it reads. The text is accompanied by a photo of Quinn and Braxton wrapped together with silver garland and left over wrapping paper bows stuck in their hair.

My chest aches when I stare down into those smiles. They are a beautiful pair.

My singular reply stares back at me: _Merry Christmas_

Really? That’s the best I could come up with? _Merry Christmas_? Jesus, I’d initiate radio silence after that too.

Ever since Braxton’s birthday three weeks ago, Quinn has been trying to get answers from me. I scroll back up through the messages between then and now. It’s really the first time I’ve allowed myself to do this since Christmas. What I see is a string of texts from Quinn the day of the birthday party and several days after. The first few fire off nearly one on the hour from that first night.

**_3:42pm: Where are you?_ **

**_5:00pm: Are you okay?_ **

**_6:22pm: Please let me know you’re not dead on the highway somewhere._ **

My response came several hours later when I stumbled into my apartment drunk and smelling of the dive bar a block away.

**_12:07am: I’m home, kiss the kid for me._ **

After that we exchanged very few texts. She called a few times, but I was never ready to answer the phone. Answering meant hearing her voice, and hearing her voice meant that I could no longer push her away. I never gave her an answer about what happened that day at the birthday party, why I left. Eventually she stopped asking. And soon she stopped texting at all. I don’t know how to give her what she wants. What is there to say?

 

* * *

 

**~ * ~ * ~ Three weeks earlier ~ * ~ * ~**

 

It’s been two weeks since Quinn brought Braxton into the city. They stayed with me all of two nights, yet they are still all over my apartment. Every time I try and plug something in, I wind up chipping a nail trying to get those damn child protectors out. I’ll never forget the look on Quinn’s face when she finally asked me what was in the plastic bags I had carried home that first day. It was a mixture of disbelief, love, and trying not to bust out laughing when I pulled out the socket protectors and the toilet seat lock. I didn’t know how much baby proofing a kid needed. There were corner protectors, expandable gates, even no-skid appliques for the bathtub. Majority of which, I never used. But I didn’t want to take a chance.

Quinn told me, after she was able to compose herself, that most of that wasn’t needed but that Braxton was on a kick with fitting things in holes. I don’t know, maybe she was taking pity on me. But before bed that first night, we walked the apartment and covered every electrical plug within reach. Although after later finding protectors in plugs over counter tops and in my bathroom, I’ve come to the conclusion that Quinn may have also been looking to have some fun at my expense.

When they took off back home, I was left with the realization that my apartment feels empty without them. It’s funny; I never used to feel that way. My apartment was my space, where I go to get away from the world. But now, it just feels cold. There’s something about having someone there with you that really gets you. That doesn’t mind seeing you in the morning with pillow impressions on your cheek and hair in every direction. I had forgotten how good it felt to not rush out the door to meet someone for coffee, but instead to sit at the dining room table and enjoy a fresh cup with someone whose smile makes the sun rise. Most days I’m up and out the door with a million things to do. But when Quinn and Braxton were here, I couldn’t find one thing I wanted to do more than spend time with them. 

Quinn seemed happier after that first day. She was lighter in many ways. Her smile was brighter, her eyes were less tired. When she laughed, it was full. I knew we had moved past the darkness that usually holds her this time of year. Having gone through this with her time and time before, I was impressed with how quickly she came back to us. This year will go down as a good one. It may be wishful thinking, but maybe that guilt she’s been carrying around is beginning to collapse in on itself.

It was harder to see them go than I had imagined it. It’s usually me getting in the car and going home. It was different being on the other end of that. But the promise of a little boy’s birthday party hung between us when we held each other on the curb that afternoon.

_“You’re coming to Braxton’s birthday party, right?”_

_“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”_

Quinn had squeezed my shoulders so tightly, like if she let go she’d never see me again. I just held her closer to me, reassuring her of my presence.

_“Promise” she asked quietly._

_“I promise. I’ll be there. Two weeks.”_

I couldn’t wait to see them again. That promise was something repeated again and again every night on the phone since the day they left.

So why can’t I get out of the car?

I’m sitting here, keys dangling from the ignition, watching family after family walk the sidewalk beside a mailbox decorated with green and blue balloons. Each group carries a neatly wrapped gift undoubtedly bearing the name Braxton somewhere on the tag. They file up the walkway; colorful coats stand out against the solid blanket of white that covers the ground. I watch them disappear through the front door, a warm glow cast over the porch with each opening.

Half an hour; that’s how long I’ve been sitting here. When my eyes aren’t following some happy little family up the sidewalk, they stay trained on the windshield wipers. Back and forth they swipe, dragging the freshly fallen snow across the pane. It calms me. It takes a lot for me to admit that I’m nervous about something. It doesn’t happen often. I’ve made a career out of exuding confidence and being able to walk into things unafraid, knowing that I can turn any situation in my favor. My entire life I’ve been pegged as the confident one. Santana Lopez, the woman who always gets what she wants. It’s taken me a long time to live up to that. But right now, I can’t even walk into a 2 year olds birthday party. Hell, I haven’t even made it out of the car.

I don’t know exactly why I’m nervous. Maybe it’s the fact that even though I’ve always been around, Quinn is very good at keeping Tim and I separate. We exist on two very opposite ends of her world. We pass each other on visits, causal hellos and goodbyes. He knows me as the friend Quinn has had since high school. The girl who always seems to have his wife’s number when he can’t get through to her. We have no reason to be at odds really. Unless you want to count the fact that we’re both in love with the same woman. Sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me and I imagine the two of us grabbing a beer, shooting the shit, becoming friends. He can’t be a bad guy; Quinn married him for god’s sake. But I know that would never work. I’d always carry this underlying disdain for him. It’s his arms that hold her at night. His lips she kisses first thing in the morning. It’s him she… nevermind.

Maybe it’s not nerves. Maybe I’m saving myself from the irritation of being surrounded by couples and parents going on and on and on about how their kid did this or their kid did that. Or that stare. You know the one. When you’re standing off in the corner sipping a stolen glass of merlot and a woman walks up to you, ankle-biter on her hip and asks which one is yours. When you tell her you don’t have any kids, she looks at you as if something went terribly wrong in your life. And don’t even bring up the heavy look of pity when you get around to answering the following question about your husband. Sometimes I feel like single women should walk into an occasion like this with a big flashing sign, “No kids. No husband. Perfectly functioning adult. Thanks.”

The familiar ding of my phone reminds me I’m just stalling. When I swipe the screen, Quinn’s name comes up: **_Where are you? Everything okay?_**

A brief thought crosses my mind; I could just leave, blame the weather and bad roads for my absence. But that would just hurt her. And I miss them.

I can do this.

With a deep breath I slide my phone into my coat pocket, slip the keys out of the ignition, grab the gift bag from the passenger seat and make my way out of the car.   

After a few raps on the navy door, it swings wide and I’m standing in a long shadow.

“Hey, Santana”

“Hi, Tim”

With a causal smile, he ushers me in, “Quinn’s in the kitchen.”

With a nod, I stomp my feet free of any snow and step inside. The house is warm, inviting. It always is.

“Found some time in your busy schedule to come up, huh?”

He’s just trying to make small talk, but I’m instantly irritated with him. I know it’s born from my uncertainty with he and I and I know it’s not fair to him. So I swallow back the smartass comment I can feel developing on the tip of my tongue and shrug.

“Well, couldn’t miss Little Man’s birthday.”

Keep it simple and easy, Santana.

“Is there a place I should put this, or…”

His eyes fall on the bag in my hand and he snaps his fingers as if he’s just figured something out.

“Oh! Yeah, here,” he says reaching for the handle, “I’ll put it in the living room.”

“Thanks”

Taking a step into the entry hallway, I point toward the interior of the home, “You said kitchen, right?”

“Yeah” he nods, “she’s getting snacks together.”

As I make my way through the house I listen to the dozens of conversations going on around me. There are people everywhere. The crowd in the living room spills down the hall, into the dining room and there are even a few stragglers in the den. Children run through the sea of people, laughing and screaming. Frantic mothers duck between people attempting to corral their kids. Behind me a balloon pops. I turn with a start just in time to see a kid, can’t be more than 8 or 9, pull down another balloon tethered to the rail at the base of the stairs. He grips the balloon in his hands tightly until it bursts. The second pop is enough to set off the infants. I hear them begin to sound off, one after the other like a battle cry. It’s just seconds before the dull roar of adult chatter is drowned out by the shrill cries.

I am never having children.

Snaking my way through the crowd in the dining room, I reach the swinging door and push into the kitchen. The Bar window is open, but the noise is still considerably less here.

“Ouch! Motherfucker, that hurt.”

I lean against the pantry door and watch as Quinn snaps backward from the open double oven.

“Now is that really appropriate language for the host of a 2 year olds birthday party to have?”

Her head snaps around and where I expect to earn a scowl for my remark, I see absolute relief. After a beat, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips before she lifts her hand to her lips and sucks lightly on the side of her fist.    

“Shut up”

Using her free hand she grabs a pot holder and reaches in the oven, pulling out an oversized tray of mini sausage wraps. I make my way over to her and reach for the oven door, closing it gently. Turning to her, I pull the hand from her lips and guide her over to the sink. A quick nudge of the facet and cool water begins to run over the burn.

I can feel her relax when the water meets her warm skin. She sags slightly against me with a sigh, using the counter as support.

“Thank you”

“Do you have some aloe or something?”

“Yeah, hall closet, there’s a first aid kit on the top shelf”

“Stay here… and away from that” I point over my shoulder at the oven and smirk, “I’ll be right back.”

She leans forward on her elbows and continues to move her hand in and out of the cool stream. I sneak out the side door and into the back hall. It’s much quieter in this part of the house. I find the closet and lean in, lifting up on the tips of my toes to reach the red and white box pushed flush against the wall. I should have worn heels. Who puts a first aid kit so far out of reach? With a little jump, I manage to catch the corner and the box topples out and over my head.

I step out of the closet and move to close the door when I walk backwards into someone.

“Oh, sor…”

“Hello Santana. I didn’t know you were invited.”

Instantly I feel the anger building. Just the sight of her infuriates me. Even after all these years, I still haven’t been able to bring myself to forgive her for the way she treated Quinn. I don’t care how many times she says “I’m Sorry” or “It was a confusing time for all of us”. What the fuck did she have to be confused about? It’s all bullshit. You don’t treat your daughter like that. You don’t throw her away when she needs you most.

“Nice to see you too, Judy. Did you misplace your wine glass?”

Her head shakes while her hands smooth the front of her dress, “I’m not the one dropping things.”

She reaches down and picks up the first aid kit, thrusting it in my direction, “I never understood what Quinn saw in you.”

She makes her way down the small walkway, humming to herself as she turns toward the living room.

“Maybe it was the fact that I never left her when she needed me.”

I watch her walk, not a single missed step, as if she hadn’t heard or seen me at all. God I hate that woman.

Pushing back through the entryway, my eyes meet Quinn’s and I hold up the box.

“There are better places for these than a top shelf, ya know”

I drop the box on the counter, pop the latch and begin fishing for some burn cream. She turns the water off and spins on her feet, resting her back against the counter with her hand dripping freely in the sink.

“You could have grabbed Braxton’s stool out of the bathroom”

My mouth falls open and she grins at me, her nose scrunching in a way that makes my heart skips a beat.

“You’re like, 2 inches taller than me, don’t even”

I reach out and rip a paper towel off the roll and then reach for her hand. I dab the burn lightly, trying to dry some of the excess water off. With each blot, she hisses under her breath.

“You big baby”

“It hurts” she whines playfully.

With a huff, I crumple the paper towel and toss it onto the countertop, then lift her hand to my mouth. I can feel the heat coming off the burn without even touching her skin. I pucker my lips and blow a gentle stream of air along the length of the red, irritated skin.

“There”

I reach for the cream and manage to pop the cap open with my thumb. After squeezing a little on my finger, I drop the tube and readjust Quinn’s hand in mine. My finger drags cautiously along the side of her hand, making sure I cover all of the mark with the white paste. When I feel satisfied with my work, I reach once more into the box and retrieve a large square band-aid.

When I feel I’ve successfully covered the burn I crumple the trash from the bandage and smile up at her, “All better.”

Her eyes are hooded, a deep desire swimming in them. I was so focused on my task that I didn’t even sense the change in her demeanor; the new electricity in the air around us. There is a flush in her cheeks that wasn’t there moments ago and all playfulness has left her. Her gaze darts back and forth between my eyes and lips. My heart beat drums in my ears, absorbing all other sounds and leaving my senses hazy. I feel my stomach drop when her tongue peeks out and moistens her pink lips. There is a tightening in my core. She hasn’t looked at me this way in years. A look that is nothing but a want and need for me. It’s intoxicating. Her free hand reaches across the small space between us and her finger loops in the belt loop of my jeans. When she tugs, I immediately drop all defenses and follow her request.

“Yeah, I’ll check. Hey, babe…”

The kitchen door swings open and Tim breezes through. Quinn snaps away from me so quickly that in the blink of an eye there are a few feet between us.

“How’s it go-…”

His eyes fall on the first aid kit and then lift to the bandage on Quinn’s hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” she stumbles on her words, turning her attention to pulling a serving dish from the cabinet below her, “Yeah. I just burned myself on the oven and Santana grabbed the first aid kit for me.”

He makes his way over to her and settles his hands on her waist. She sets the tray down and turns in his hold, showing him her hand, “All good. See?”

I busy myself cleaning up the kit, looking for any reason to avoid looking at them.

Out of my peripheral, I see him take her hand in his, just as I had only a minute ago, and bring it to his lips. He kisses the covered burn and mumbles about how she needs to be more careful.

My resolve breaks and my gaze drifts back to them. She smiles at his affections but her eyes quickly shift to me and there is anything but a smile in them. There’s an apology there.

Before I can let my mind contemplate what exactly that apology is for, I snap the latches and seal the box while making my way out of the room.

I spend the next hour pretending the kitchen didn’t happen. I help Quinn prepare the rest of the snacks, dish out the drinks, and make small talk with her friends as they ask us about our friendship. Things like, “we hated each other in high school, but look at us now” garner laughs from the guests. Other terms like _roommates_ , _cheerios_ , _glee club_ , and _just known each other forever_ are used to simplify, to condense our relationship into the small box that’s been deemed acceptable. Every once in a while I’ll catch Quinn’s eyes and will have to turn away. I can’t deal with what they say. I feel complete and utter guilt when I find her stare. She shouldn’t be silently apologizing for being a wife. I knew what I was coming into when I knocked on that door. Being upset isn’t really something I’m allowed. I just really thought I could get through a few hours without feeling like I don’t have any right to be here.

But that’s on me. A friend wouldn’t feel this way. A friend wouldn’t be bothered by a husband holding his wife around the waist; or kissing her temple as he walks by. These are things a friend sees every day and doesn’t think twice about.

She almost had me convinced that’s what we were; just friends. We’ve always had moments where the room charges, but nothing sparks, we never cross that line. It’s always shut down faster than it begins. Sort of like what happened in the kitchen. But that was different. All those other moments were charged, yeah, but there was always something buffering the tension. Usually it was one of two things: One, my fear of Quinn regretting the decision, regretting me; or two, Quinn fearing the consequences of her choice.

The only thing in that room today was raw, stripped emotion, no buffer in sight.

Had that door not swung open........

I guess it really doesn’t matter, it did.

When I finally manage to slip away from everyone, I seek out the quietest corner I can find to drain my stolen glass of wine. Basically I’m hiding behind the coat rack in the foyer, perched on a cold window seal. Seems like a fair trade for some quiet. I left Quinn to mingle, talk about book clubs, HOAs, or which stroller works best, whatever they talk about. Tim lost Braxton to his grandmother about half an hour ago. I catch a glimpse from time to time of Little Man roaming from cheek pincher to nose stealer. Man that kid’s loved.

I take advantage of the quiet to check some emails. I send off a few texts and schedule a couple meetings. Work is a good distraction. It helps me tune out the crowd and focus on something other than the feeling I have that I just don’t fit in in this world.

Heavy footsteps sound from the around the corner and make their way into the space.

“Oh! Hey, have you seen Quinn? I can’t find her. I was hoping she was with you.”

Tim looks down at me before cocking his head just a little, “You okay, Santana?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because, you… well, you’re sitting behind a bunch of coats with an empty wine glass. If you’re anything like my wife, you’re hiding.”  

I can’t help but chuckle at his observation. He’s right. I’m absolutely hiding. I’m hiding from the people, from the noisy kids, from him, from this house, with all its perfection and warm and coziness. Ugh.

I send him a small smile, “Busted.”

“Hey, save me spot. After the cake I’m going to need to sneak a beer… or three.”

He gives me an easy smile and turns to leave but stops and glances back over his shoulder, “But if you see her, could you tell her the kids are getting restless. I’m thinking cake time.”

“You got it”

“Thanks”

When he finally slips from sight, I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I need some air. Rising from my perch, I set the empty wine glass atop a shelf along the wall, out of reach and turn toward the door. Carefully, keeping as quiet as I can, I slip out the door and into the chilly December afternoon. Pulling my leather jacket tightly against me, I raise the zipper to shield myself from the wind. My hands rise to my lips and I breathe into them, the warm air escaping between my fingers in thick clouds of white.

The snow has stopped but the sky is still are dull shade of grey. It’s silent standing here on the porch, at least compared to inside. I welcome the cold since it ushers with it a few more stolen moments of peace. I watch as cars pass by, the sounds of slush meeting tires echo off the bare trees. I hear the light rumble of an engine, but I can’t give it a home. It’s a soft hum. My eyes scan the cars parked in front of the house, all of which sit empty and off. Taking a few steps to my left, I reach the end of the front porch and lean over the railing. Tucked near the back of the house at the end of the drive is the garage. Tim’s truck sits just outside and I can see the garage door is open. The back of Quinn’s Jetta peeks out around the truck and I can see exhaust coming from the tail pipe.

Making my way down the stairs, I decide to trail through the snow covered yard. When I reach the driveway, I stomp off the excess from my shoes and head for the garage. When I come up on the car, there in the backseat is a head full of blonde hair haloed by a soft glow coming from the small screen mounted to the headrest shining through the fog covered glass.

I step up to the back driver’s side door and knock softly on the glass. Her head swings and look of surprise covers her face. After she recovers, a smile forms and she waves me in. So I reach for the handle and pull the door open. She scoots over and without a word I drop down in the empty seat, the door closing beside me with a thud.

“I’ve been asked if I see you to tell you the kids are getting restless and it’s cake time”

She drops her head back and groans.

“Five more minutes”

An odd giggle fills the car and my eyes find the small screen. Elmo dances across the screen as some song with dancing letters plays in an irritatingly high pitch.

“Juice box?”

My attention turns back to Quinn, sandwiched between me and the carseat. She holds out a small green box while sucking on one of her own.

“Is that a mommy juice box or a Braxton juice box?”

She laughs, smiling over at me, “Braxton juice box. You don’t think he’ll notice do you?”

Her playful jest is followed up with a wink and a shoulder nudge.

“I better not. I don’t need the apple juice mafia coming after me when he counts his inventory.”

She leans forward and drops the unopened drink in the diaper bag on the floor, “You’re smart. I can’t promise I can protect you. He’s very particular about these things.”

“Mmmm” I nod, “Apple juice is serious business.”

We both fall silent, her eyes trained on the small screen and my eyes on her.

“Quinn…”

She turns, shifting in her seat to fully face me.

“Are you okay? I mean, you’re sitting in your car watching Elmo and drinking juice boxes in the middle of your son’s second birthday party.”

Her eyes dart away and her shoulders slump, “I just needed a break.”

She shrugs and only the corner of her lips turn up, barley revealing an exhausted grin. She looks like the world is sitting on her shoulders. The air around us grows heavy and my chest aches. I wish there was something I could do to help her. To take away all the stress she’s feeling.

“You know what, on second thought, I’ll take my chances with the mafia, hand me that drink. Let’s talk”

Her shoulders shake with laughter as she reaches down and pulls the box back out. I pop the straw in the drink and take a long pull.

“Ahhh, that’s good shit.”

She taps her box against mine, “Cheers”

“Alright, talk to me. What’s going on? Why are you hiding?”

“Like I said, I just needed a minute” she shrugs and sips her juice, “I just felt overwhelmed in there.”

“Wh-”

“This wasn’t supposed to be this big thing. I only wanted to have a few friends over, some family. But then it grew. Michael’s mom overheard me telling Taylor’s mom and then that conversation grew into inviting the class. But it’s not enough to have Braxton’s pre-school class, nope. That spilled into his swim class and…”

“Wait, the kid is in a swim class? It’s the middle of winter. And he’s two.”

“Indoor pool; and two is actually a little behind the ball. But anyway…”

She goes on, talking about how Judy went on to invite church members and country club members. How Tim’s mother Patricia, who Quinn adores, practically took over the party planning, but left Quinn to make sure it all came together. She rambles on about how a December birthday party is hard enough to plan with all the other activities going on around that time. She says something about the grocery store not having the chips she wanted to put out and how the bakery messed up the birthday cake.

“… I was all, ‘No, his name is Braxton. B-R-A-X-T-O-N.’ And when I went to get the cake this morning, what does it say? Braxtin! TIN? Seriously? Who names their kid BraxTIN?”

I feel a comment about the general naming of a kid Braxton—O or I be damned—coming on but I decide I value my life and right now would not be the best time to give her a hard time about that.

She continues on, mumbling about party favors, kids she doesn’t know. How Tim’s buddies keep sneaking into the kitchen and stealing snacks as they come out of the oven. Braxton didn’t sleep well last night, therefore she didn’t sleep well. She’s tired, she’s frustrated.

“And then there’s you”

My brow furrows and I shake my head confused. I turn to ask her why I’ve been rolled into that mess and I’m met with her lips on mine.

There’s no delay in the kiss. Immediately I feel her tongue swipe across my lips and I give in. She tastes like apples and lip gloss. Her free hand molds to my cheek and holds me tenderly to the kiss. There’s so much want in this kiss but it lacks the messiness of rushed desire.

She moans and I welcome the opportunity to make her sound off again. The whimper that unravels between us, I’m surprised to find, comes from me. I’ve missed her; this way. I’ve missed the intimacy we share. When we kiss, my entire body comes to life. Every nerve wakes and fires, as if celebrating her very presence.

She shifts and our lips part, leaving me breathless and inaudibly begging for more. The juice box is lifted from my hand and sat in the carseat, discarded beside hers. In a single turn, she straddles my lap and slips her hands down along the side of my neck. Her head stays low, to avoid contact with the roof. A curtain of blonde hides her from me.

“Please don’t talk”

I swallow any reply and lift my hand, brushing the loose hair behind her ear, revealing teary eyes. It’s not sadness I see. It’s something else, something has snapped. She’s finally bowed to the stress, the pressure, the longing and the need. She’s finally allowing herself to feel. Even if for only a few stolen moments in the backseat of her car with Sesame Street playing in the background and goldfish crackers on the floorboard. I am not about to be the one who denies her this.

Reaching up, I cup her face, the pad of my thumb brushing along her lips. She returns the touch with a caress. Leaning forward, I ghost my lips over hers. I move slowly, I want her to know that I want this too. She’s not alone. And if I can’t tell her that, I’m going to show her. My lips form a kiss around her bottom lip, and sucking lightly, she sighs into me. I seize the moment her lips part and reclaim her, taking the caress deeper. My hands smooth over the back of her white oxford, dipping between her shoulder blades and then trailing back down. When my touch reaches her hips, she pushes forward against me, her body seeking the friction our mouths have created. She moans, deep and needy, when my fingers dip into the back pockets of her jeans, my hands pulling her against me again and again. The throbbing between my thighs grows with each thrust, each nip, and with every sound. The way we sound together is enough to get me wet. My hips begin to lift, meeting her eager ones. My body screams for any relief. Each movement makes my core tighten, creating this painfully pleasurable moment. When my clit finds the seam of my jeans, I gasp. Finally. Quinn notices my shudder and lifts one leg, then kneels on the seat cushion directly between my legs. She leans forward, thrusting her leg against me. Her lips drop and she makes quick work of my neck with small bites followed by the intoxicating swirl of her tongue.

“Ohh..o.. oh my god”

This combination has me seeing stars. My hands slam down against her ass. A smack fills the air only to be chased off with a throaty laugh that gives way to an almost pleading moan. I grip tightly and scrape my nails down the backs of her thighs before wrapping my hands around the inside of those beautiful legs. When I climb back up to her center, my fingers straighten and press along the middle seam of her jeans. Her head falls to my shoulder and she groans, pushing down on my teasing hands. I’m completely lost in her and I have no desire to ever be found.

But there’s this thing; just because you don’t want to be found, doesn’t mean someone isn’t looking for you.  

Quinn’s entire body freezes above me. The only movement is our chests, rising and falling in search of air. A familiar song breaks through the drumming in my ears. The tones continue to play out for another few seconds before she scrambles off my lap, leaving me abandoned and hopelessly disoriented. Her body stretches across through the front seats and she lifts her discarded cell to her ear.

“Hey…”

I can hear in her voice that she’s fighting to keep her tone and breath even.

“…O-Okay. No, I’m headed in. I was just looking for something in the car and ended up cleaning it out. You know me”

It doesn’t take but a second for me to realize who she’s talking to. And just like that, whatever fantasy land I was just in is gone. It was like, everything around us sat suspended. And then with a phone call, everything crashes back down, bringing reality with it.

“Yep. I’m coming, get everyone into the dining room, I’ll grab the cake. Mmmkay. Bye”

When she ends the call, her shoulders drop and she sighs so heavily that her hand grips the side of the passenger seat for support. I know it’s over, this moment. But I can’t seem to move. It’s like my body refuses to listen to what my mind is screaming. Quinn finally rises off the seat after a minute and turns back to me, falling back into the empty space beside me.

“Santana, I-”

“Don’t”

I straighten my back and run my fingers through my hair, calming myself.

“I am so tired of hearing you say you’re sorry.”

She sits quietly next to me, her eyes trained on her lap.

“You better go. You’ve got a cake to deliver.”

She nods silently and leans forward once more, shutting the car off and slipping the keys from the ignition. I take the moment to run my hands along the top of my thighs, hoping to calm my body in any way. When she sits back, she turns off the small screen and lifts the two juice boxes from the carseat.

I reach for the handle and swing the door wide. Stepping out, she follows and with the heavy thud of the door we make our way out of the garage. She hits the key pad outside and the garage door roars to life. With the juice boxes finding the trashcan beside the backdoor, I reach out and grab her arm.

“Wait…”

When she turns, I adjust the collar of her shirt and smooth down the sides that had risen up during our… moment.

“There”

“Thank you”

She turns to head for the backdoor. After a couple feet she stops and looks back at me.

“And just for the record, I wasn’t going to apologize.”

 She pushes through the door and hold’s it open, eyeing me from the entryway.

“You coming?”

I toe the snow at the edge of the walkway with my boot, “I’m uh… I think I’ll go back through the front door.”

She nods, pulling her lip between her teeth, “Okay.”

“I’ll be in there in a minute”

When the door closes behind her, I feel the inevitable wall rising between us. I shouldn’t have snapped at her in the car. I can be so stupid sometimes; so presumptuous. 

I round the house, taking another minute to compose myself before entering through the front door. The crowd that seemed to spill out of every room is crammed tightly in the dining room chattering away. Down the long hall I see someone breeze through the kitchen door and as it swings I catch a glimpse of Quinn carefully resting the blue and white cake on the counter. She smiles as she reaches for the candles Tim is handing her. She wears the mask well. As if nothing happened. It’s not that I’m upset; it’s just amazing range of human emotions we can roll through in a matter of minutes.

“Santana…”

My ears perk and my head turns to find Judy standing beside the staircase. My eyes roll and a heavy sigh escapes in anticipation of whatever this woman has to say to me now. I drop my shoulder in an attempt to push past her as she walks my way.

“Stop”

“Judy, I’m not going to fight with you right now, they’re about to bring the cake out”

“Think about it Santana”

My eyes narrow and I step back.

“Think about what, Judy” I snap.

Her arms cross over her chest and she stares at me so condescendingly, I even think I see a hint of pity in her stare.

“You don’t belong here”

“It’s a birthday party, I was invited. Get out of my way”

“Quinn is happy. Look at her” She raises her arm and points toward her daughter who’s now carrying the cake to the dining room amid ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’.

“You were never meant to be a part of this world. Whatever connection you two have, it’s only a benefit to her. Like therapy.”

My brow furrows and mouth falls open, attempting to get a word in, but she continues on, leaving me in an odd state of confusion and disbelief.

“Think about it. Does she ever stay? Does she ever give you something in return? Has there ever been a time she calls you or comes to you that she isn’t in some sort of distress?”

I’ve never let Judy Fabray get the best of me. In all the years we’ve crossed each other’s paths, never once have I put any sort of credit to her words. Even when Quinn and I dated, with all the nasty things Judy laid on me, I never blinked. But right now, I’m failing to shut her out. I’m failing to protect myself from her assault and it’s backing me into a corner. I don’t know why today I’ve failed to maintain my defenses. Perhaps it’s my own insecurities running at an all-time high? Maybe I’m finally forcing myself to see what I’ve always feared.

“I’ve never asked her for anything in return”

“She’s never going to leave him for you” she continues, “That’s not how the world works. You’ll never have her this way. With birthday parties, date nights, a home, a family. That’s a picture that you do not fit in.”

The words slice through the space between us and find their mark. My throat begins to close, my eyes begin to sting and my chest aches. It’s a deep and heavy pain that only seems to grow, wrapping itself around me and squeezing tightly. It’s an inescapable feeling of brokenness. Through the pounding in my ears, the vibrant words of ‘Happy Birthday’ filter in. Between breaks in the crowd I can see Quinn standing at the head of the table, Braxton on her hip, Tim at her side. They smile as they sing; Braxton giggling and grabbing eagerly at the cake below him. They appear to capture that promise of happiness; a healthy family full of love.

“I may not have been the best mother, but if there’s one thing Quinn learned, it’s how to survive. She won’t destroy this life for you. Don’t you see that? You’re just a distraction, Santana. When she needs an escape, she runs to you. But she never stays. She never will. It’s just better for everyone if you’re out of the picture all together. With you not there for her, she’ll start paying attention to what’s in front of her.”

My stomach feels sick at the thought that maybe she’s right. Quinn never stays. There’s always this unspoken promise that she still loves me and that I still love her. But in the end she always leaves. I suppose maybe had I had the courage to ask her to stay she would. But like Judy said, why would she? What reason would she have to leave this life? But there’s something different this time around. Quinn is hiding something.  

“If you think your daughter is happy, you don’t see her at all. Something is going on with her.”

She nods, dropping her arms at her side, “Hmm. Well, that may be true, but it’s nothing I can’t help her get through.”

“Yeah, because you’ve helped her so many times before in her life.”

Judy straightens her back and holds her head high, thrusting her chin out and narrowing her eyes at me.

“My daughter needs to focus on her family. What she doesn’t need is some rebellious mistake from her past pathetically following her home. You want a family, Santana? Go get your own. Leave Quinn’s alone.”

Before she turns on her heels and disappears into the crowd, she points to my neck, her brows raised in a knowing manner, “Quinn’s color really doesn’t suit you.”

And with that she rounds the corner and leaves me speechless.

 

* * *

 

I left the party after that. I just couldn’t stay. Between the looks I was sure to get from Quinn, the mask I’d have to wear after Judy ripped me apart, and the most painful ache I’ve ever felt, it was just easier for me to leave. It wasn’t like I just shrugged off the afternoon and drove away jamming to the radio. No. It was more like hold my head up until the car door closed behind me and then shatter. I was shaking so hard while I cried that I couldn’t get the key in the ignition. Eventually the whole ring dropped to the floor board and I just gave up. I cried on the steering wheel for about fifteen minutes. It was a constant battle of memories of Quinn on top of me and then the masterful way Judy Fabray took that away from me. I just wasn’t strong enough that day to fight back. So I bowed out.

When I finally managed to pull myself together, I drove home. Lindsay met me at the bar a block from my apartment and she just sat with me. She was the only support I had. She never asked what happened and I never offered. She drank with me, but for every three drinks I threw down, her one sat only half full. I’m sure through my tears and questions of what options do I have, she put together a few pieces of the puzzle. But again, she never pushed me, which was what I needed in that moment. I needed someone to be there for me, but not ask me for anything. She walked me home, gave me some aspirin and tucked me in. I laid in bed, my head swimming going through the string of texts Quinn had sent. Should I respond? Should I ignore them? I couldn’t make heads or tails of my own thoughts. But I owed her at least something that told her I was safe.  

**_I’m home, kiss the kid for me._ **

After I sent that off, everything just kind of went black. The next thing I remembered was waking up that morning to the sounds of someone letting themselves into the apartment. Turns out Lindsay had slept on the couch that night and had run out to grab some coffee and breakfast. She asked me once while we were eating if I wanted to talk about the last day and again I said no. There’s something about talking to Lindsay about Quinn that I don’t feel right about; especially since I have yet to mention Lindsay to Quinn.

“Hey hot stuff, you ready to get out of here?”

Lindsay nudges my hip with hers and settles in beside me on the booth. She brings a small water bottle to her lips and the shimmer on her metallic VIP bracelet glints against the roaming lightshow. I turn and see that Adam is currently signing for the tab. A small chuckle bubbles up inside me when I watch the color drain from his face. He’s such a cheap bastard, but I love him for it. He’s a smart businessman. He knows when to withhold and when to splurge. Sometimes he just forgets how expensive splurging can be. Ryan is stacking glasses and wiping the table down, forever the neat freak in our little group.

I reach for the small bottle as Lindsay hands it to me, “Here, you can have the rest.”

She leans over and kisses my cheek before digging her phone out of my clutch. I take a small sip and then down the last half of the bottle. I didn’t know how thirsty I was. This water tastes amazing. Once it’s empty I place it atop the stack of cocktail glasses in the middle of the table.

I glance down at my phone and swipe the screen, illuminating the photo of Quinn and Braxton again. My fingers ghost over the keys and then there’s the familiar swoosh sound.

**_Happy New Year, Q._ **

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Together we make our way out of the club and onto the street. The icy wind wastes no time in nipping at my heated skin, sending shivers down my spine. I pull the fitted trench coat up around my neck and bounce lightly.

“Jesus it’s fucking cold”

Adam and Ryan huddle around me, pulling Lindsay into a hug. We all say our goodnights and the guys take off down the street. I get the feeling they’re not quite done with the city just yet. When my head whips back around Lindsay walks up to me and runs her hands up and down my arms with a smile.

“How are you not freezing, Linds?”

“Guess I’m still hot from in there. Would it be cool if I crashed at your apartment tonight? Grabbing a cab to the Bronx is going to be a nightmare tonight. Just sleep. I promise. Unless....”

I nod, already sniffling, my teeth chattering under the cold.

“I'm passing out when we get back" I laugh, "But of course you can stay. Come on”

I step to the curb and raise my hand high in the air, bouncing again to keep my legs moving.

“Come on, come on, please stop… shit it's cold.” 

A cab slows a few feet from me and I turn, waving for Lindsay to follow me. Just as we step to the car, a group of Columbia wearing, Sperry sporting douche bags throw the door open and dive in.

“Hey fuckers! That’s our cab!”

I beat my palm against the window and watch as they laugh before one of the men rolls the window down and makes some disgusting remark about how we can sit on his lap if we really want the car. I just slam my hand down on the top of the cab and throw them the finger. Lindsay tugs on my arm and I see that another cab has pulled up right behind this one.

“Come on, tiger.”

I walk with her while still shouting at the other cab already pulling away, “Learn some fucking manners you ass clowns!”

My heel catches a crack in the road and I stumble into the door she’s holding open for me. Ugh. I’m cold and now I’m pissed off. This is not a good combination for me.

“Let’s get you home, babe. Come on”

I slide across the seat and she enters after me. She gives the driver my address and I take the opportunity to drop my head back against the headrest.

It comes as a flash in that moment, the smell of apple juice, the pink tint of her lipstick, the way her hips rolled against mine, her hands, her lips, and the way she moaned.   

My eyes fly open and I push the memory as far from me as I can. Lindsay pulls her phone and gets lost in text messages, so I turn my attention to the passing city streets. Down 13th, turn on 10th, follow West St to Hamilton and ride Clinton home. Partygoers spill out onto the streets; balconies are draped in streamers and soft glowing lights. Lines go from being outside clubs to wrapping around cafes and restaurants. Slowly the city is letting go of the party and making its way back to normal.

After about twenty minutes the cab turns down Lexington and I grab for my clutch.

“Here we go. $29.78”

Reaching in I pull out two twenties and hand them to him, “Thanks man, Happy New Year.”

Lindsay pushes the door open and steps out with me on her heels.

“Shit”

“What” I turn, “What’s wrong?”

“I think my earring fell off in the car, can you check?”

I turn and quietly apologize to the driver for keeping him. My hand splays out across the seat and I feel around for the small silver hoop. Just as I find the earring, Lindsay grabs my hips and thrusts herself against my ass, laughing playfully.

“Would you… come on, Linds, I got it. Quit.”

She backs off shouting about how I’m hero and I apologize to the drive once more who, at this point is laughing along with her but has this look like, _can I watch?_  Creeper.

I step out and throw the door closed with a huff. Lindsay makes her way up the stone steps and punches in my code. The heavy door buzzes and unlocks and she breezes through. I follow her closely, gripping the railing remembering just exactly how many drinks I had tonight.

“Oh fuck, I can’t wait to get naked” Lindsay spins around in front of me, “Shower” she sings.

“God you can be such a little─”

Whatever words I was saying, whoever I was saying them to is lost on me when my eyes land on the woman sitting on the staircase leading up to my apartment.

Her hair is done up, bangs falling perfectly across her forehead. The dark eye shadow practically sets fire to the hazel I see staring back at me. Her lips are red, her nails are black. Her cheeks flush under my mute gaze. Those legs, fuck me, those legs. Long and lean, crossed tightly and disappearing beneath the long black coat she wears. Her feet rest in a pair of matte black heels, high enough to know she doesn’t wear them often. To her right, a bouquet of roses rests beside a bottle of champagne.

Her lips part when Lindsay sings, her eyes watching the brunette spin at my side. In a beat, her brow furrows and realization washes across her features. Somehow her color dulls and my world screeches to a halt.

_No._

_No, no, no._

_It’s not what you think._

_Stop, please._

_Don’t go there._

_Give me a chance to explain._

Everything I want to say is on the tip of my tongue but my mouth won’t move. Everything slows down, the drumming in my ears growing lower, rumbling deeper.

Her legs uncross. She pushes up from the stairs. She nods, subtle, but I catch it. It’s the same nod I had 3 weeks ago when I walked away from the birthday party. It’s a nod of resignation. Somewhere deep in my chest a sharp pain strikes, ridding me of breath for a few short moments. If I ever had to describe what feeling your heart break is like, this moment would be my example. I watch her move past me, each step she takes syncs with the pain in my chest and I wonder if this is what dying feels like; a constant race for breath. The door behind me slams closed and it echos like a gunshot.

All at once, everything speeds up again and it feels like I’ve come up from being underwater. Noises are louder, clearer, I can breathe again. I find Lindsay, her eyes wide and I know she knows. She opens her mouth to speak, but I’m already turning, pushing against the door and breaking out into the night.

I scramble down the stairs, griping the railing and trying to look left, right, forward, anywhere where she might have gone. I catch a glimpse of the black coat and blond hair headed down toward Court St.

“QUINN”

When I land on the last step, my heel breaks and I feel a tight snap in my ankle.

“Jesu-fuck. Ahhh.  QUINN! QUINN, WAIT! PLEASE! IT'S NOT WHAT YOU— QUINN STOP!”

Every step I take is excruciating, but I refuse to stop chasing after her. I scream her name, I plead with her to wait, but she keeps her hands in the pockets of her coat and only seems to walk faster. She expands the distance between us, my cries reaching further and further. Finally she jogs across the street under the glow of the corner lamp and disappears around the corner.

When I make it across the street, I grip the corner of the brownstone and catch my breath. My eyes scan for any sign of her, but the street is empty; dark cars, dim apartment windows, reflections of yellow blink in the wet street from the lone traffic light. They all dance in and out of the warm steam rising from the manholes in the road.

I push forward, my broken heel dangling from my hand. Limping down the block a few more feet I call her name, hoping against hope she just walks out from behind a car or something. But she doesn’t and when the pain becomes blinding, I finally stop and drop down on a bus bench. It’s too cold to even cry. I figure maybe if I sit here long enough, everything will go numb. At least then I can walk back home and spend the rest of the night refusing to accept what I already know.

She’s gone.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Break Against Me. Chapter 5 will be coming soon.
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to reach out to me on tumblr at burlesonspride.tumblr.com


	5. Walk Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient! I know it's short, but I'm coming back around to the story. Stay tuned!

There is a weight, to everything, when you’re losing someone.

The air grows heavy, thick with emotions that somehow drown out the rest of the world.

The only sounds that really resonate are the hefty beats of your heart that pound frantically deep within your chest; the broken sobs that wrack the body and make you cry out for the pain to stop.

Your mind, the dam protecting the heart, breaks and unleashes every memory you’ve ever shared with that person. Smiles, laughter, arguments, and makeups play on a loop behind closed eyes. You are assaulted with the perfection of their flaws, the subtlety in their glances, and the warmth you’re filled with when they whisper ‘I love you’.

When the floods recede, your soul is left in shambles. Warped images of your time with that person haunt you, discolored; hardly resembling the vibrancy, the actuality of that moment. Pieces of you lie scattered across the expanse of the devastation.

When the tears stop, the anger sets in. You look around and find pieces of that person in everything and it cultivates a rage that burns deep. The desire to make that person pay for hurting you is blinding. It begins to rip at you, slashing you until you see red.

Just as you’re about to give in, to allow yourself to be the villain, to hurt in return, you come across an item in the rubble. An old note, a necklace, a photograph, a ring, something that makes you stop and remember why this hurts so fucking much: You love this person.

The feeling is still there. It hasn’t moved; it wasn’t washed away; it just got a little muddy in the aftermath.

You pick that piece of you up, dust it off. It’s this one treasure, found by chance in world, seemingly gone so wrong, that reminds you; your heart still beats; you’re alive.

But then what?

 

That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to figure out for the past two weeks; then what?

I’ve tried calling her. I’ve tried texting her. Email, instant messenger, you name it.

Nothing.

The bottle of champagne sits unopened on top of the refrigerator. The roses lie, dead and dry, on the table next to the front door. They seem to add to the pathetic nature of my current state.

The first week I bounced between the couch and my bed, barricading myself in the apartment. The steady flow of Vicodin every six hours helped make me care less about not hearing back from Quinn. But the last few days I’ve been more on my own with dealing with the issue at hand. It’s only a sprained ankle; it’s not as if I can blame my reclusive behavior on it much longer. I’ve ventured out to work the past two days but already my arms hate me, and frankly, it’s been a bitch trying to find clothes that look good with crutches. At least here in the apartment I can just hobble along.

My phone sits beside me, void of anything to do with Quinn Fabray. Every time it lights up, I hold my breath, hoping that it’ll be her face I see on the screen. It’s no different now as the buzzing vibrates the cushion I’m perched on. I let out a disappointed sigh and swipe quickly at the screen.

“What”

“You should really be nicer to the person bringing you dinner”

Lindsay’s voice fills the apartment as I go back to focusing on painting my toes.

“I didn’t ask you for dinner”

“Oh, okay. So what’s on the menu tonight?”

“I don’t know” I press, “I’ll make grilled cheese or something.”

“Santana, I threw your bread out last week, it was green. And don’t tell me you’re ordering in again, you’ve got enough of Mr. Wong’s take-out in your fridge that you could start your own restaurant.”

I try and focus on propping my foot on the table, taking care to not spill nail polish on the brace. Instead the coffee table slides forward and my foot slams into the hardwood; “Fuck!”

“Santana, are you alright? San…”

Through clenched teeth I answer, “I’m fine.”

“I’m a few blocks away, I’ll be there shorty. Byeeeeee”

\----------

My eyes are trained on the half eaten box of pizza that sits on the table between us as my fingers mindlessly peel the label off the bottle of beer in my hand. Lindsay’s been talking non-stop about her day. It’s easier to just let her talk. When she runs out of things to say, her attention turns to me and my lack of words. Right now I don’t have much to say, but that doesn’t stop her from digging into me. So I simply nod, and push the conversation along, asking well placed questions that launch her into a whole other conversation.  After telling me about running into an ex-flame at the pizzeria, she grabs her beer and takes a long pull. The room falls quiet and I know it’s only a matter of moments before her eyes find mine and the questions start. So I take a sip myself and enjoy the brief silence that hangs in the air.

“Have you heard from her?”

There is it.

I shake my head, watching the drop of condensation roll down the side of my bottle, “nope.”

“What are you thinking, San?”

I take a deep breath, stealing some time. I don’t know exactly how to answer that to be honest. I’m hurt she shut me out without so much as a word. I’m worried I’ve hurt her beyond repair. I’m angry she won’t talk to me. I’m scared I’ve lost her for good. How does someone express all of those emotions without coming off as crazy?

“I don’t know what to do”

“How so?”

Sitting back in the chair, I pull my knee to my chest, leaving my other leg to drag against the cool floor, “I’ve done everything I can to reach her. It’s becoming very clear to me she does not want to talk to me.”

“Have you thought about driving up there?”

“Of course I have. But what good is driving there if she’s not willing to talk to me?”

“It would force her to deal with this. Force you both. Neither of you are going about this the right way.”

My head drops back as a curt laugh escapes my throat, “And what is the right way to go about dealing with this, Lindsay? If I recall, had you not been drunk and obnoxious neither she nor I would be in this particular situation.”

“I’m glad to see your ego hasn’t been damaged in all this Santana, but don’t go blaming me for your problems with Quinn.”

She’s right; I’m just looking for the softest place to land the blame.

“I’m sorry” falls out of my mouth in a hushed mumble.

“What was that?”

Glaring at her, I push up from the chair and take my empty plate to the sink, “I’m not repeating it.”

She laughs behind me, taking a bite from a fresh slice, “Mmhmm, I heard you.”

A few minutes pass with us keeping our thoughts to ourselves. I rinse the dishes in the sink and stand quietly as I dry them. When each has been placed in its appropriate cabinet, I spin and lean back against the counter, dragging my toes across the seam of the small carpet below my feet.

“What am I supposed to do if she won’t even talk to me?”

Lindsay adjusts in her seat, resting her chin atop her arm on the back of the chair. She eyes me for a beat and then I watch her features soften.

“Walk away”

A lump forms in my throat as I fight off the tears burning the corners of my eyes.

“Santana” she continues, “you can’t keep making time and space in your life for someone who does not want to be a part of it. If she wanted to fix this, if she wanted you, in whatever fashion, she’d make the time for you. She’d at least pick up the fucking phone once, even if it’s just to tell you she needs some space. At least then you would know where you stand. But… ya know, I don’t know how she works.”

“Easier said than done” I say, wiping a stray tear off my cheek.

She stands, making her way towards me, “I know.”

Her arms wrap around my and fight like hell to keep myself together. But I fail miserably as the tears flow freely and my chest aches with each sob. She pulls me closer and I respond in kind. Lindsay holds me there, urging me to get it all out; reassuring me that no matter what, she’ll be there for me; promising me that I will be alright.

She smooths my hair down, each stroke releasing tension and bringing my emotions down until I’m calm enough to step away from the embrace. Reaching around me, she pulls a towel off the counter and dries my cheeks.

“I don’t know much about your relationship with Quinn other than what you’ve told me. I don’t know if time between you two like this is normal or if this is something brand new. I know the circumstances surrounding you two are complicated. But if there is one thing that I am absolutely sure of, it’s that when you talk about that woman, your entire being lights up. You can be having the worse day of your life but as soon as her name appears on your phone, nothing else matters. I’ve seen the way you look at her; I’d kill to have someone look at me like that. You look at her like a kid looks at the stars; it’s as if every time you lay eyes on her you’re discovering the universe for the very first time and you’re in complete awe. That’s the real deal, San.”

“My loving her doesn’t matter if she doesn’t feel the same”

“Has she said that? Has she come right out and said she doesn’t love you?”

“Shutting me out is sending a pretty clear message”

She shifts and leans against the counter beside me. Nudging my shoulder, she catches my gaze.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I know you Santana, and you are one of the most, if not _the_ most, stubborn woman I have ever met. You and I can go weeks without talking after fighting over which album cover works best for a certain demographic. And, I love you, you know that, but I don’t _love_ you. So if we can go weeks without talking about something that stupid because we’re stubborn, doesn’t that maybe leave room for that theory? Especially given the history you both have together? I mean, to love you the other person has got to be able to stand their ground. You’re not easily matched.”

“But I am trying! And weren’t you just telling me to walk away?”

“My guess is she’s matching you because I imagine she’s as hard headed as you are. And I’m going to tell you whatever it takes to get you out of this funk. If you know it’s time to walk away, walk away. You deserve better. If you know that she’s worth it, all of it, then goddammit, pull your head out of your ass and keep trying. I want you to be happy.”

“That is some of the lamest shit I’ve ever heard, Linds”

“Tell me I’m lying…”

I gnaw the inside of my cheek as I replay bits of the conversation over, stalling having to tell her she’s right… again.

“So say you’re right…”

“I am…”

“Again, what am I supposed to do if she won’t talk to me? Just show up there and hope for the best? ‘Hey, sorry to interrupt your family dinner Q, but we need to talk about you showing up at my apartment and then promptly leaving on New Years…’”

She shrugs, folding her arms across her chest, “Action is always better than inaction.”

I head toward the refrigerator and pull it open with a drawn out sigh, “I’m not drunk enough to contemplate that conversation at the moment.”

“So you’re going to go?”

“I don’t know” I say, twisting the cap off another beer, “maybe.”

\----------

I keep replaying last night over and over in my head. Lindsay was right, but what if going to New Haven blows up in my face? Is that the right decision? Quinn is as hard-headed as I am, and just as competitive, if not more. Is she shutting me out because I hurt her, so now she wants to hurt me? It’s not outside the realm of possibility. Not by any means. We’ve done it to each other more times than I can count. But what if this time isn’t like that? She shouldn’t have stormed out without letting me explain. But I know how I feel when I see her and Tim together, if that’s what she felt that night, I understand. Still, she left me with nothing. Do I wait her out? See how this plays out if we stay in our respective corners?

Fuck, I have no idea what I’m doing right now.

The loud click beside me brings me back and I reach for the handle. Pulling back, I place the hose back in its cradle and turn, securing the cap on my gas tank. The hum of the busy highway across the street dies once I slide back into the driver’s seat, pulling the door shut behind me. I take a deep breath, rooting myself in the decision I’ve made. Reaching for my cell phone, I pull up the familiar number and shoot off a text.

**I am about an hour outside of New Haven. I need to see you. We need to talk. I know this is a surprise, but I didn’t know what else to do. Will you please have dinner with me later?**

After a few minutes without a response, I grip the steering wheel tightly. I can just turn around right now and be home before dark. Avoid whatever might happen. Or I can keep driving north and see what happens.

I’ll give her another few minutes to answer me.

Pulling forward, I slip onto the access road, passing one expressway entrance after another. More minutes pass and nothing. A quick right turn finds me in a Starbucks drive-thru line.

“I’m stalling. This is so dumb.”

I continue to argue with myself through the order and even retrieving the coffee. I sit at the entryway, turn signal blinking, but I stay unmoving. Finally a car behind me honks and I realize I’ve created a bit of a backup.

“Fuck” I sigh, “whatever.”

I cut across traffic and finally hit the entry ramp. My foot lies on the gas, signs flashing over me: _New Haven, Next two right lanes._

I sing along to the songs that play as I drive, watching signs, counting down miles and playing over in my head the speech I have prepared.

God, this is going to either be really great or the worst thing ever.

My phone sounds off from the center console. I reach for it and swipe the screen before checking who it’s from.

There on the screen is a message from Quinn.

**I can’t.**

_I Can’t_? That’s it? What the fuck?

I swipe my thumb across the screen furiously, trying to keep my eyes on the road while desperately trying to understand _I can’t_.

**Quinn… Please.**

The familiar sound of the message leaving sounds off and I clutch the phone in my hand, against the wheel as I drive, suddenly feeling anxious.

Another chime.

I glance at the screen.

**I'm in New York.**


End file.
